Inexplicable
by mangochi
Summary: Spock is frustrated when Jim comes back from a mission injured...again, and pressures him to find out why. However, some surprising revelations are made and the two of them find themselves gravitating closer and closer. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sooooooo yup I've started a new story! I really do hate posting WIPs, so let me know if you want the rest of the story in one go or just the next installment. Naturally, it'll take longer for the whole story. I find it amusing and slightly tragic that authors like bashing Kirk up with the Club of Angst, but that's what I decided to go with this time. First chapter: I injure Kirk, throw in some distress, and push Spock in to see what happens. We shall see what will become of this bwahahahahaha. Reviews and comments are welcome as always. I try to answer every one :)**

Chapter 1

It was an undeniably evident and intergalactically acknowledged fact that Captain Kirk of the _Enterprise _was a remarkable man in several very different ways. Spock began to categorize the components of this thought into orderly mental files as he waited in the corridor, sorting out the exact ways that made James Tiberius Kirk the inexplicably unique being he was. For one, he was an immensely gifted strategist and commander, able to make split-second decisions that, more often than not, resulted in inordinate amounts of paperwork and a trail of shattered regulations leading to strangely satisfying results. There were many other reasons, forty-seven that Spock could identify, to be exact, not excluding some talent at chess and and a distastefully large amount of libido. Perhaps most prominent of all these reasons, however, was the Captain's overall irresponsible and unfounded beliefs that his physical limits were well beyond what they truly were and that, in the end, every situation would have a pleasing result if he was personally involved in its progression. This would inevitably lead to physical trauma ranging from scrapes and bruises to, say, ruptured flesh and shattered bone from land-based mammals. Predictably, that in turn resulted in a raging Dr. McCoy, whose temper was not to be taken lightly in the best of circumstances, armed with flailing hyposprays and growled threats.

Spock had barely processed that last bit of information when the medbay doors swooshed open, expelling an irate McCoy with no less than five datapads tucked under an arm. "Doctor, is the cap-"

"He's _alive_, more or less," McCoy grumbled. "No thanks to himself. Are you aware, Spock, that he managed to completely shatter four ribs this time, two of which puncturing his right lung? I had to regrow an entire kidney, for crying out loud! I don't know what's worse, having to do it or knowing that it's not the first time I've had to. There was this one time back at the Academy-"

Spock decided to intervene. "I am indeed aware, doctor, having performed my own analysis of the captain's injuries while...escorting him back aboard." He had all but carried the captain to the medbay at a dead run, trailing blood all the way. He wondered absently if the corridors had been cleaned yet.

"You mean while dragging his sorry pieces of ass back on the ship," McCoy muttered. "Whatever. The moron's breathing and in one piece again and I suppose that's all I can really ever hope for. You can go on back and see him now." As Spock inclined his head politely and made to move past McCoy, he noticed the doctor giving a weary sigh and run a hand over a face lined with stress. A very human gesture, Spock observed, having witnessed the captain making the same motion before, when he thought nobody was looking. Spock had seen, however, and said nothing out of grudging respect for the man. That respect swiftly gave way to a prickling sense of irritation now, as he stood over the sleeping man in his biobed and gazed down.

James Kirk lay on his back, a blanket tucked in tightly over his chest. His arms lay over the fabric, hands curled loosely at his sides. A medical armband was fastened over his right wrist, labeled "BIGHEAD MORON" in McCoy's spiky scrawl. His skin was several shades paler than its usual hue, dark bruises prominent under his eyes and along the sides of his neck where McCoy's inexhaustible stock of hyposprays had plunged mercilessly. His eyes were closed now, twitching under their thin lids, chest rising and falling in quiet snores.

Spock felt his hands tighten behind his back as he watched the sleeping man before him. A strangling coil of ugly...injustice, long since buried from his childhood days of rejection and mockery, now reared within his chest and wrapped around his throat. Illogical. He was simply expressing disapproval of his captain's behavior, which was merely logical in the case of James T. Kirk. It wasn't _fair_, after all, that Spock had had to stand here time and time again, witnessing the results of his captain's utter disregard for his own body. Was self-preservation completely absent in the man?

Spock had not thought that possible, having been taught that love of one's self was the underlying motivation of all _homo sapiens _behavior. After several months of service under Kirk, however, he had begun to harbor his own severe doubts as to the validity of his xenocultural education. He had never once witnessed the man throw himself behind another for protection, nor taken steps to ensure his own comfort and safety before that of his crew. If anything, he actively strove to accomplish the exact opposite, impulsively placing himself in every possible dangerous position so that other crew members would not have to. It was, Spock concluded, most irrational and utterly displeasing. He himself was, after all, the captain's First Officer. Did Kirk find him dissatisfying in some way, or lacking in the performance of his duties? This oddly troubled him, and he sat down in the bedside chair in order to puzzle over the unwelcome emotion.

The sheets rustled as Kirk stirred in his sleep, fingers twitching as his hand flexed once and stilled. Spock found himself watching the movement unblinkingly, fascinated by the play of the medbay's sterile light against tendons and sculpted muscles. The calluses on rough fingertips, swollen knuckles from excessive amounts of bar-originated violence, the faint shadows of hair on Kirk's bare forearms. His captain had quite the aesthetically pleasing hands, Spock thought. Well-shaped. Dynamic.

He was suddenly seized with an urge to touch Kirk's hand. The sudden desire was swiftly followed by overwhelming confusion and bewilderment. Spock was all too aware of his dislike of physical contact. In that, at least, he was fully Vulcan. He reflected briefly that he had not ingested food in nearly 3.7 days. Perhaps his desire had been misdirected by the need of food. He would seek nutrition immediately upon leaving the medbay. For now, however, he was content to wait until the captain awoke. It had almost become a tradition now, for Spock to read the captain the list of regulations he had broken and lecture him on the rationalities of preserving the state of his body in order to maintain his ability to command on a sound basis. He preferred to do this at the captain's bedside, where the man was forced to lie still under threat of incurring McCoy's formidable wrath.

Kirk's face wrinkled slightly and Spock recognized the symptoms of awakening. He composed his thoughts swiftly, compiling the usual list of reprimands and peering into the captain's face expectantly. An eyelid crackled open, bright blue searing into Spock's face, and then the other. Kirk squinted at his First Officer for a long moment-4.3 seconds-before directing his attention to his immediate surroundings. "Aw, hell," he croaked, voice raspy from disuse. "Arghhhh." Spock graciously waited six seconds, allowing the captain to regain his full mental capabilities, before smoothly beginning, "Captain, you have been unconscious for 3.7 hours. I will remind you that, four hours ago, you decided to accompany the planetside party for reasons unknown and encountered an irate mammal similar to your Terran boar. After reviewing the reports of witnessing crew members, I now understand that, upon discovering the presence of said mammal, you not only attempted to approach it, but threw yourself in its path when it inevitably charged the party. Is that correct, Captain?"

Kirk peered at him suspiciously. "Yeah. It is," he answered, not without some degree of predictable defiance. Spock felt the stirrings of irritation again and swiftly smothered it. He continued, "The doctor has informed me that you suffered four broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a completely destroyed kidney, not to mention heavy blood loss."

Kirk groaned, flopping his head back against his stack of pillows. "What, is that all? Explains why I feel like shit," he mumbled. "The kid okay?"

Spock blinked once, twice, attempting to analyze the bizarre question. Kirk, perhaps noticing his difficulty, clarified, "Yeoman McGee. The thing was going straight for him."

Ah. Spock should have expected such an event, though it had not been included in the reports. Purposefully, he now suspected. It was not the first occurrence, after all. "Yeoman McGee suffered no injuries," Spock confirmed. "Or, at least, I have not observed his presence within medbay after the party's return. As usual, Captain, you remain the sole injured member of the expedition." Kirk glanced at him sharply, slanting his eyes without lifting his head from the pillows. "Something you trying to say here, Mr. Spock?" he asked. Spock observed the challenge in his tone and met it with sudden rising displeasure. "Not at all, Captain. I am merely stating that you have a proclivity to somehow sustain injuries meant for another."

Kirk's hand twitched, a flap intended to dismiss the accusation, no doubt. "I'm fine."

Spock opened his mouth, about to strongly disagree with the ridiculous claim, when McCoy reentered the scene with a stack of PADDS. "Thanks to _me_, as always," the doctor snapped, slapping the PADDS down on Kirk's bedside table. "And Spock, I suppose," he added reluctantly.

Kirk glanced at Spock again, that flash of startling blue that never ceased to catch Spock off guard, and shifted his attention to the datapads. "What's this?"

"I've brought your work down from the bridge. You're staying here tonight, where I can keep an eye on you. NO." McCoy raised a hand to Kirk's rising protests. "I don't care if you're 'fine'. I'm your damn doctor, so I get to tell you what's fine and what's not. I've patched you up for now, but one wrong move and-"

"Come on-"

"-you'll be spewing blood through your side. Won't be so good-looking _then_, I promise you."

"_Bones_-"

"I said _no_. Tell him, Spock. Tell him that he's an irrational git and he'll get himself killed for real one of these days, like you always do. Go on."

"Captain, I am compelled to agree with the doctor. Your past behavior suggests that, if left to your own devices, you will no doubt find some innocuous method to deal yourself severe physical trauma."

"Hey, that was low-"

"The Vulcan has spoken. Watch him, Spock. I've gotta eat something. You haven't had anything, right? I'll get you a salad on the way. Don't let him wander off."

"Affirmative, doctor. I am aware of the captain's tendencies to remove himself from medical care prematurely."

"I'm right here, you know," Kirk complained. He was largely ignored by both men. McCoy left shortly afterwards, after nailing Kirk with one final glare, and the two of them were alone once more.

Kirk sighed, settling himself into the bed and closing his eyes. After long minutes had passed in silence, Spock assumed he had fallen back asleep. He was therefore somewhat surprised when the captain spoke quietly, eyes still closed. "It's not what you think."

"I am uncertain as to your meaning, sir."

"I...It's not I _like_ getting...you know. Hurt and stuff." His eyes opened then, and fixed on Spock's. Illogically, Spock's chest tightened and he swallowed, trying to force the feeling away. Perhaps his hunger was more severe than he had thought. Kirk blinked and looked away, staring up at the ceiling instead. This somehow disappointed Spock immensely, and he was appalled at the reaction. Surely his self-control had not deteriorated to such a flimsy state? He berated himself silently, then threw up as many rigid restraints as he could before returning his attention to the captain.

"I did not intend to insinuate such a thing, sir," he said carefully. "I am aware that you do not derive pleasure from physical pain."

Kirk smiled slightly, a twisted expression that contained no humor at all. "No. It's just me being selfish, that's all. I've always been incredibly self-absorbed, Spock."

Spock felt compelled to disagree at this point. "Captain, not once have I observed any act of yours that has indicated self-absorption. In fact, 96.7% of your actions has indicated the-"

"You're wrong." Kirk lifted a hand, waving it about distractedly like a limp flag. His armband caught his attention and he read it silently, amusement gleaming in his eyes. A halfhearted chuckle rumbled from his chest.

Spock was beginning to feel frustrated, an emotion he was not completely unacquainted with when in Kirk's presence. "Please expound upon my misunderstanding, then, Captain."

Kirk's hand dropped back down. "It's complicated."

"Attempt to explain."

Kirk's fingers twitched and Spock's eyes snapped down to the action. They were tugging absently at the sheets, stroking and smoothing the fabric alternately. A peculiar feeling seeped through Spock's faltering restraints, infusing his chest with a full sensation. He moved without thinking, reaching out to-

"I'm back." McCoy dumped a tray of salad unceremoniously onto Spock's lap. The Vulcan blinked and withdrew his hand, feeling somewhat lost with himself.

"Where's mine?" Kirk asked plaintively.

"_Yours_ is here." McCoy smirked as he hooked an IV bag to Kirk's drip. "Lots of healthy vitamins for you, big boy."

Spock rose quietly while the ensuing argument carried on, bearing his tray with him to the door. He suspected that the captain would not carry on their previous conversation with the doctor in the room, and McCoy would most likely not leave for the remainder of Kirk's medical stay. Therefore, it was only logical to confront the man after he was cleared for duty. It was only logical to wait, but Spock found that, despite his pristine arguments to the contrary, that he did not wish to.

**A/N: edit: fixed some typos and spaced out paragraphs better. Reviews are greatly appreciated as always and will be lavished, adored, and stored away with great care and affection!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Part 2 of the slow-going trek of romance. The whole thing is just UST, sorry. I'm honestly not too good at coming up with uber-legit ST plotlines on the fly. MORE RESEARCH WILL BE DONE. But for now just enjoy some awkward Spirk.**

Chapter 2

Jim watched his heart monitor glumly, only halfway aware of the green spikes of activity with every pump of his heart. It was the only thing of interest left in the medical bay. Everyone else on the ship was apparently disgustingly healthy; he was the only occupant. Bones had joked once that Jim should have his own private wing of the place, or even the entire medbay. Chapel wasn't in, or at least there'd be _something _interesting to stare at, and Bones himself was locked up in his office sorting through Jim's paperwork. If Spock hadn't left, they could have at least had a game of chess.

Spock.

Jim's heart plummeted down to somewhere around his knees. He hadn't...hadn't meant to say anything earlier. He was lucky Bones had come in, really, but there was still this odd feeling of...disappointment. Stupid. Illogical, Spock would have told him. Why should he feel disappointed about not saying the thing he never wanted to say? And to the last person he would have wanted to know? Jim knew his reputation; he _wanted_ to be the genius captain everyone thought they knew and liked. How could he disappoint Chekov with his ridiculously effective puppy eyes and Sulu and Scotty and even Uhura and...Spock. He didn't want to disappoint Spock any more than he knew he already had. Their relationship had improved significantly since their first voyage-at least Spock hadn't attempted to strangle him since-but Jim had never been able to forget that rocky start. Even now, whenever he saw that reproach in the Vulcan's eyes...he couldn't go through that again. Knowing he had let someone down. He suddenly, desperately, irrationally wished that Spock would come back, if only to read him his stupid list of regulations and tell him that he was being reckless and stupid and call him _Jim._

Jim's hand wandered under the blanket, brushed the sensitive, still-healing area on his torso. It tingled and sparked strangely, though not totally unpleasantly. Bones's pain meds, whatever they were, had worked well. He would be up and running again soon enough, he was sure. Unless Spock had finally decided to put him on a leash and tie him to the captain's chair. The thought was not completely repulsive, for whatever strange reason. Jim had long since given up on trying to understand his own mind. It was a dark and dirty place, filled with too many hidden, and not so hidden, gutters that made it a danger to traverse. He imagined Spock's mind to be the opposite. Probably all nice and lit up and right angles and all that. Completely gutter-free. It'd be warm, too. He knew how much Spock didn't like the cold..

His hand drifted down, past his stomach, brushed against his crotch contemplatively. Could he...?

His eyes fluttered shut as he slipped his hand under the loose cotton trousers, curling his fingers on the hardening flesh and giving an experimental tug. A jolt of electricity shot up his spine and he froze momentarily, hoping he hadn't reopened his wound. When a quick glance confirmed that there was not, in fact, a rapidly spreading puddle of blood on his chest, he relaxed back into the pillows and slipped back into his fantasy-surfing. A blurry face hovered in his mind's eye, features shifting uncertainly as his motions grew faster and rougher. He was reaching the peak of release, mouth half-open in shallow gasps, when suddenly, the shifting face snapped into overwhelming clarity. Dark eyes, angled eyebrows- "Spock-" Jim choked-

Bones burst from his office, eyes wild. "What the _hell_ are you doing?!"

Jim's eyes snapped open, wilting immediately at the sound of the doctor's voice. The heart monitor, he realized, was flipping out, beeping and flashing with violent green spikes. He willed his heartbeat to slow down, depressingly aware of his lost high. He pulled his hand out meekly from under the blanket and wiped it surreptitiously against his thigh. "Bones."

Bones, who had been shaking the monitor dubiously, looked from Jim to the monitor. His pulse had slowed back to an almost normal rate, with only an occasional sudden spike of acceleration. Jim watched in fascination as the light bulb went off in his friend's mind and Bones flushed an indignant maroon. "D-D-You-" he spluttered. "_Why?_ For God's sake, Jim, can't you hold off for a single day? You've been _gored_, for crying out loud!"

"Yes, thank you, I haven't _noticed_," Jim told him peevishly. "Now call Spock down."

"He's on duty," Bones pointed out.

Jim faltered. "I-I know that. Um. On second thought, no. Don't call Spock down." He wasn't sure if he could handle a second dose of Vulcan so quickly anyway, not after...not after seeing _that_ in his scandalously shameless mind. Bones eyed him oddly, clearly considering administering another hypo to the neck, then shrugged and retreated to his lair.

He tried to sleep after that, but as soon as his eyes closed, all he could see was _him._ Spock's face. His human eyes. That damn quirky eyebrow that he wasn't sure Spock himself was fully aware of. Those weird ears. "What the hell," he mumbled under his breath, completely unnerved. The heart monitor bleeped warningly and he shot it his best Spockian death glare, sucking in deep breaths of air in an attempt to calm down. In the end, he was forced to call Bones back for a sedative.

…

Spock did not like the captain's chair. It was _comfortable _enough, he supposed, by human standards. Wide, round. Some degree of support. He shifted his weight for the fourteenth time, but remained unable to achieve a satisfying position. He tapped his thigh irritably, then forced himself to relax. This would not do. The chair was Kirk's. Somehow, it had always been. Sitting in it seemed like a deep violation of some form of regulation-ridiculous, as Spock was well aware of every Starfleet regulation in existence. All of which completely legalized his occupancy of the chair while Kirk was recovering. It was the _presence_ of the man that seemed to reject him so. Somewhere, in the core of Spock's logic, a voice argued that the thought was completely irrational. Captain Kirk was in the medical bay and the chair was in the bridge. Therefore, it was utterly impossible that-

His communicator beeped. "Medbay to bridge. This is McCoy."

Spock intercepted the message immediately. "Doctor. Is everything all right?"

"He's sleeping now. Should be clear to go in twelve hours, but I'm keeping him for eighteen and you won't be telling him otherwise, you hear?"

"Affirmative, doctor. I am aware of the logic behind your decisions."

It was quiet on the other end. Spock began to feel a thin thread of concern. "Doctor?"

"It's nothing, really. I mean, it's Jim, after all. He does weird stuff."

"Doctor, I insist that you tell me what is troubling you." This was not a conversation to be had in public, Spock abruptly realized. He stood and scanned the deck. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir-" Spock was already gone. The corridor outside the bridge was relatively quiet and disturbed, but Spock slipped in the turbolift, setting the destination to the medbay.

"Spock? You still there?"

"I am on my way."

"Wait, no. Hold on, I haven't even _told_ you yet!"

Spock slammed a hand down on the lift controls, stopping it in place. "Please enlighten me, then, doctor." He was proud to hear no sign of frustration in his voice. His control was in no danger of slipping, after all.

"He's gone a bit...odd. Not _loony_ odd, no, just a bit off. He's asked me for a sedative, Spock. Which is a _shot._"

"I am fully aware of the definition, doctor."

It was a sign of McCoy's anxiety that he did not rise to the provocation. "Well, Jim _hates _shots. Can't stand them. So if he's asked for one himself, and a sedative at that...he's not in pain, I can say that. He's an overgrown infant about it so I've got him pumped full of the stuff."

"Perhaps he is unable to sleep."

"Of course he isn't! I've been telling you that the past five minutes!"

Spock refrained from issuing an acidic response and contented himself with altering the lift's destination. "I shall be there shortly, doctor." He snapped the communicator shut and returned it to his belt.

The doors opened to crew quarters, where Spock proceeded to enter his own rooms, retrieve his chess set carefully from its table, and carry it back onto the lift. He was given several odd looks by passing crew members, none of them commenting. He ignored them all with silent dignity.

McCoy received him at medbay personally and made his displeasure known. "He's sleeping, Spock. Finally. Don't you _dare-"_

"I will wait until he awakens to initiate our activities, doctor. Rest assured, I am not one to make a commotion."

"Don't you have duties? Captainy things?" McCoy looked to be on the verge of stretching himself across the entryway and barring entrance. Spock stifled a cloud of annoyance, the doctor was a friend of the captain, after all, and was merely concerned with his well being. He told himself this firmly while gently maneuvering into the room, chess set held high to avoid damage. It was a particularly fine set, after all, gifted to him by his father, who usually made a point of not gifting anything to anyone. Once through the obstacle, he turned to the doctor. "The captain, Doctor McCoy, is already here, I believe. And it is not I."

McCoy gave him an odd, measuring look, then grunted reluctantly and crossed his arms. "Just don't wake him."

The captain was indeed asleep, sunk deep in a cocoon of pillows and blankets. The IV bag dripped silently. A heart monitor, propped by Kirk's head on a trolley, beeped quietly in the delicate silence. Spock placed the chess set on the table, beside the pile of unread datapads, and seated himself once more on the chair he had vacated a mere 1.6 hours ago. How was it, he wondered, that he somehow always found his way back to his captain's side? Even when he had marooned the man on a distant planet, Kirk had found his way back aboard the _Enterprise_, against all odds, and stood with him on the bridge. Surely this could be explained through logic, yet Spock found himself unable to do so.

Kirk's head turned slightly towards Spock, his face wrinkling in a dream-deep frown. Spock found himself trying to mirror the expression. He smoothed his face hastily and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers before his face in an act of concentration. There seemed to be a constant weakening of his mental barriers whenever he was in the captain's presence and an inexplicable urge to stare at-to _touch_-the man. He could not identify the resulting emotion as mild repulsion or intense attraction. There was a fine, if not contradictory, line between the two. Either way, it could not be healthy. Nevertheless, surely it would not be detrimental to merely...experiment. The resistance his logical half put up was futile and suspiciously weak.

Spock reached out, almost too eagerly at first, then slowed when recalling, with some degree of guilt, the CMO's orders to not awaken the captain. His fingertips, trembling with some unknown energy, hovered over the back of Kirk's hand. His sensitive flesh perceived every golden hair curling up from his skin, sending electric slivers ricocheting up his forearm. He moved a millimeter closer, then another...

Kirk mumbled fuzzily and Spock snatched his hand back quickly, so fast that he almost slapped himself across the face. He gathered his frazzled nerves swiftly, watching the captain's face with intent focus. To his great relief, Kirk did not open his eyes. Instead, he nuzzled the pillow sleepily, mumbling again. "...Spock..."

Spock leaned forward, uncertain that he had heard correctly, but Kirk did not speak again.

He merely sighed, rubbed his face deeper into the pillow, and began to snore raspily. Spock frowned disapprovingly. It was just like Kirk to not complete a sentence after starting. The sheer irresponsibility was staggering. This was not the first time his impulsiveness had irked Spock in some way. The fact that he was even in the medical bay at all was a prime example. Before this occasion, Kirk had sampled the local fauna of an uncharted planet and ended up vomiting his way across two galaxies. Before that, even, he had decided to engage in a form of Terran entertainment known as "BASE jumping" with Mr. Sulu off the Cliffs of Heaven on Sumiko IV. This particular escapade had resulted in a shattered leg for the captain and an unscathed Mr. Sulu. McCoy had been suitably infuriated, Spock now recalled.

He amused himself for the next two hours by polishing every individual piece of the chess set and, upon completing the task, sorting through Kirk's work and completing his duties appropriately. He was currently Acting Captain, after all, he reasoned. It wasn't as if he wished to lighten Kirk's workload, by any means.

He had progressed to meditating on the floor when Kirk stirred and groaned, 4.2 hours after Spock's arrival. Spock, who had been drifting in a light trance, was snapped back to awareness by a groggy, "Spock?"

"Captain."

"Call me Jim." Kirk looked mildly surprised by his own words.

Spock eyed him carefully. "...Jim." He was not accustomed to the sound of the name in his own voice. Dr. McCoy addressed the captain in such a manner, as did several of the senior officers when off duty, but he had never experienced the easy familiarity as they did with Kirk and the captain had never broached the subject with his First Officer. Until now, it seemed, but it had been an odd day altogether. Spock stood, stretching his spine slightly as he straightened. He had been sitting for quite some time and was unused to the inactivity. Kirk's-_Jim's_-heart monitor emitted a shrill beep, and Spock swiveled around sharply. "Are you all right, Captain?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah." A slight flush of pink swept across his face. Curious. "What happened to 'Jim'? You were doing so well."

Spock gave the monitor a last wary glance and busied himself with wheeling the chess set between the chair and the bed. "I thought that you might be lacking in recreation in the medical bay...Jim."

Jim's eyes brightened at the sight of the set. "Chess?"

"It has been approximately 5.76 evenings since our respective schedules have allowed time for a match, and as you are currently indisposed of any current duties, it would be most logical to pursue one at this time." Spock shifted the set so that Jim was on his usual white side and waited.

Jim played as brazenly as he commanded, barely pausing before moving his pieces. Spock, on the other hand, preferred to study the board carefully before making a move, considering all possible outcomes and scenarios and selecting the one most logically sound. The game progressed silently for seventeen moves, except for the faint clinking of pieces against the glass tiers. Jim broke the silence, as expected. "You haven't forgotten, have you." It was not exactly a question, but Spock understood his meaning.

"I have not," he replied, sliding his rook forward and collecting a white pawn.

"What, is this a test or something?"

"It is not an evaluation of any kind, no."

Jim eyed him shrewdly. "You're a tricky hobgoblin." There was an odd tone to his voice...affection? No, impossible. Spock sat back. "It is your move, sir," he pointed out. "You are in check."

Jim glanced down at the board, evidently surprised, and moved his king out of danger before looking back at his First Officer. "Forget I said anything."

Annoyance returned swiftly and without warning. Spock realized he was frowning, but couldn't bring himself to smooth his face. "I...am unable to do so."

"I didn't mean anything before. Just me running my mouth off. You know how I can get when I'm hooked up on drugs." Jim lifted an arm to show off his drip and tried a short, awkward laugh. Spock did not unfreeze his face. "You're angry," Jim said quietly.

"I do not feel anger, Captain, therefore it is illogical to accuse me of such."

"You're lying."

"Vulcans do not-"

"Well, humans _do!_" Jim snapped. "And the last time I checked, you _can_ get angry!"

"If you are referring to the incident on the bridge, Captain, I assure you that-"

"Stop! Stop that!"

"I do not know to what you are inferring, Captain."

"Stop...going all Vulcan on me like that. Say what you're really thinking."

"You would not like it," Spock said coldly.

They had unconsciously leaned forward, their faces now a mere 6.3 inches apart, Spock noted distantly. Jim's eyes really were a remarkable shade of blue. Like the sky. Illogical, as the blueness of the atmosphere was only due to the reflection of sunlight off of-

"How would you know," Jim asked softly, "what I would like."

The tension between them had shifted to something...more, and perhaps something less.

"I..."

"What?"

"I find myself...displeased by your actions. You display no care for your own body and disregard the concern of your colleagues. Dr. McCoy has shown great-"

"Just Bones?"

"Other members of the crew have-"

"What about you?"

"Me?"

The distance between them had narrowed to 4.8 inches. Spock could feel Jim's breath on his face. His hand tightened on the forgotten knight he still held, the stone almost creaking in his grip. Half of him strained forward, yearned to close the distance. But his other half, the stronger half, kept him frozen in the chair.

"Were you worried about me?" Whispers against his skin. Cool breath.

Spock could not answer. Or would not. Something hot and violent trembled impatiently within him, barely held back by weakening restraints. None of this made sense, none of this he could explain through logic. He could not begin to grasp what the conversation was even about anymore. His Vulcan education, he despaired, had poorly prepared him for the storm that was James Kirk. "I..."

The black knight cracked in half, a surprisingly loud sound, and with it, the tension dissolved. Both Jim and Spock looked in surprise at the now headless horse in Spock's hand. Spock blinked once, twice, pulled back from Jim. "My apologies, Captain."

"No, no, it's my fault. Shit, Spock, I'm sorry." Jim reached out vaguely, perhaps to take the broken knight from Spock, but he moved farther away and slipped the pieces in his pocket. Jim's hand hovered uncertainly, then lowered back to his side. "Sorry," he repeated. "Sorry."

…

Spock left after that, and Jim couldn't blame him. What was he _thinking, _acting like that? He slammed a fist down on his thigh, in utter despair of his stupidity, and winced as his abdomen twinged obnoxiously. _Even my own damn body thinks I'm a class-A dick_. The truth was, he just wanted Spock to...what? What had he wanted Spock to do? The guy was his friend, or, at least, almost one. He didn't expect him to..._I don't even know_.

He needed to have sex. That was probably it. Since he had become captain, he'd imposed a self-campaign against relationships with other crew members and had so far succeeded. Surely he was just in need of a hot date. After all, he hadn't really _meant _to jerk off to Spock earlier. That just meant that he was extremely sexually frustrated. After all, Spock was a man. And a Vulcan. With stupid hair. But it wasn't that stupid, really. If anything, it was actually kind of hot in a dorky way. And the way he always called him Captain...it was kinda kinky.

No. Noooooooooo. He wasn't thinking this. There was no way he could be attracted to Spock in that way.

_So why did you want to kiss him?_ whispered the dark and dirty gutters of his deviant mind. Kirk told the gutters to shut up. _I don't want him like that_.

_Then how _do _you want him?_ The gutters offered several images in rapid succession: Spock on his back, Kirk on _his _back, Spock naked, in the shower, flushed green-

This was getting out of hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:...ahaaaaaaa. There will some sort of plot, I swear. This is all kind of build-up. I don't want this to be a twenty-something chapter thing and it won't be, but I'm kinda desperately throwing up plot bridges as I chug along and even though I know the vague shape of what I want to happen, it's the little subplotty details that nail me.**

**I'll post M-rated warnings before each chapter for those faint of heart. This chapter is completely void of such (sadly) and mostly some loose UST.**

**But soon. Prepare yourself. **

Chapter 3

"Our estimated time of arrival at the station, Mr. Chekov?"

"Docking in approximately two point seven hours, sir."

Spock acknowledged the information silently, unable to prevent himself from thinking that the captain would have said something in return, some compliment that would have sent the young officer in a red-faced whirl of adoration. Spock did not know how to offer such a compliment and therefore contented himself with folding his hands behind his back quietly. He had long since abandoned the inexplicably uncomfortable chair and now stood a short distance in front of it. The captain would be released from care in two hours, and then he could return to his proper station. _Behind_ the chair.

The bridge was quiet without him. Without Kirk. His presence was one that was only truly appreciated when absent, Spock mused. But when present, it somehow managed to infuse the atmosphere with an odd...fullness.

The Enterprise would dock at the space station in two hours and thirty-eight minutes. Spock had not slept for some time-ten standard days, in fact-and although he required far less rest than humans, he found that his performance began to deteriorate after nine. Lack of sleep with the addition of the frustration of Jim and too many words left unsaid was beginning to take a toll. He excused himself promptly with that thought in mind, passed the conn to Sulu once more, and departed the bridge. He was one foot into the turbolift when a voice called out.

"C-Captain?"

It took him 1.5 seconds too long to realize he was being addressed. He turned, taking in the red-clad yeoman behind him. He was young, perhaps only two or three Terran years older than Chekov, and possessed mass quantities of curly orange hair that clashed rather disturbingly against his shirt.

"Is...ah, C-Captain Kirk all right, uh, Captain?" stammered the young man, wilting slightly under Spock's scrutinizing gaze.

"Yeoman McGee," Spock said, finally identifying the yeoman. "You were part of the landing party, I understand."

"A-Aye, sir. I was. The captain...what happened...it was my fault, really." McGee was displaying several signs of distress, appearing close to bursting into tears. "Is he all right?"

So this had been the yeoman Jim had thrown himself in front of. Spock felt an illogical resentment towards the man and squashed it down immediately. This was not his fault. He attempted to convey comfort with his next words. "The captain will survive his injuries, Yeoman. You need not concern yourself over his condition." It did not, for some reason, appear to work. If anything, McGee became more emotional. "B-B-But it's my fault! If I hadn't been there, he would be fine." Spock chose to not voice his agreement. "This is not, I believe the phrase is, Captain Kirk's 'first rodeo'," he informed the yeoman dryly. "And I doubt it will be his last." For some reason, this troubled him deeply. "He would not want you to worry so." Illogical, as Spock had no idea what Jim would want. _"How would you know what I want?"_ He shook his head imperceptibly, attempting to remove the memory through physical force. McGee calmed down considerably and excused himself with a, "Thank you, Captain Spock."

"Commander," Spock corrected automatically, then frowned as the yeoman mumbled a confused correction and scurried off. He was the captain, no matter how temporarily. There had been no reason for him to state otherwise. Spock chalked the slip up to his impending weariness and stepped once more into the turbolift.

He was keying in the codes to his quarters when he noticed that someone had bypassed his preliminary security measures. Only the captain had the override codes to his security, but Spock had managed to overlay an additional lock that only he should possess the key to. He considered the keypad gravely, then pressed the final button that would open his doors. If his suspicions were correct, and he had little doubt they were not, the intruder could only possibly be-

The doors opened, and Spock strode in, mouth open in preparation for an automatic reprimand. He froze as soon as he set foot in the room. The doors hissed shut, just behind his heels. The captain-Jim-was lying on his bed. There were several factors here that were very wrong. First, Jim had hacked through his security. This did not much surprise Spock, though it displeased him a great deal. Second, Jim was supposed to be in the medbay, which meant McCoy would soon launch a shipwide hunt for the man, accompanied by great fanfare and a great deal of undesired fuss. Third, Jim was in _his_ bed. Sleeping. _The sheer nerve. _

Spock gave the curled form on his mattress a final exasperated glare before stepping swiftly to his closet. How was it that he always came across the captain while he was sleeping? In any case, there was little logic in disturbing Jim now, he reasoned, when he was only doing what he should be doing in the first place: resting, albeit not in the proper location. His presence did not bother Spock to a great degree. He was used to the captain being in places he should not, though he felt that that itself should be disturbing. The only concern he harbored now was that Jim was taking up his bedspace. He had no desire to share with the man, which left only the option of reclining on the floor. A curl of annoyance tickled his chest. Why should he have to sleep on the floor? It was his room, after all, and it lacked any other furniture large enough for him to lie on, excluding the console in the corner.

He removed his blue shirt and hung it up neatly, leaving his black undershirt and pants. The captain gave a rattling and completely unwarranted snore, muttering incomprehensibly as he rolled onto his back and scratched at his stomach absently. He had somehow located and donned a red shirt over his hospital garb, Spock observed. This would explain how he had roamed the corridors without so much as a single alert. The shirt was too large, so that it gave the captain the appearance of a swaddled infant.

Spock amused himself with this image for some three seconds, thinking that Jim was rather infantile in his own excessive ways. He spilled emotion carelessly wherever he trod, evoking equally passionate responses from those around him, whether it be in anger or amusement or otherwise. Spock had observed this behavior during the rare occasions on shore leave when he was talked into accompanying the crew to planet side bars. Many a violent altercation had arisen on those occasions, Jim usually at their centers. He was loud. He was eternally convinced of his own righteousness. He was rash and thought little of the consequences of his actions. In short, James Kirk had a natural tendency to frustrate Spock with his immaturity.

However, he had to grudgingly admit, there was a sort of innocence to the man that others were almost unconsciously drawn to. His physical appearance also did nothing to hinder this attraction. Spock was suddenly aware of the broken pieces of the knight against his leg. Evidence of his loss of control. It would not happen again, he decided. It could not happen again.

Spock squatted down beside the bed, studying Jim's face intently for signs of improvement. His coloring was of a more natural hue now, and he seemed to breathe easier. Spock found himself leaning closer, mesmerized by the tone of the captain's skin. His own skin was pale with underlying green veins, nothing overly remarkable, and he had always been faintly interested in the warmer coloration of humans. This was a rare opportunity to pursue this interest as a close range, he told himself. On a purely scientific basis, of course.

Jim took a deep breath and Spock moved back warily, uncertain of the captain's response if he should awaken and observe Spock's alarmingly close proximity. Fortunately, he remained asleep, and Spock did not attempt to approach him again. Instead, he turned around so that he leaned back against the bed, and absentmindedly rolled the pieces of the black knight in his palms. He was somewhat impressed, though still chagrined, at the surgical precision in which he had snapped off the top of the piece. In fact, he was sure he could manage to mend it with some form of adhesive...He slid the pieces together and aligned them so that, for a brief moment, the knight was almost seamlessly whole.

A hand reached over his shoulder and closed over the knight, enveloping Spock's hands simultaneously. Spock was taken completely off guard. He jerked his hands away instinctively, though not before a sharp jolt sizzled through his nerves and left a tingling sensation in his fingers, and turned his head sharply to face Jim.

Jim appeared not to notice his reaction, studying instead the knight he now held in his hand. "Sorry about that," he murmured.

"Are you apologizing for hacking into my security codes, commandeering my bed, or perhaps raising the ire of a certain Dr. McCoy?"

Jim laughed softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm sorry for all of that, but I meant this." He seemed fascinated by the smooth break in the stone chess piece, running the pad of his thumb over its surface. "You really did a number on this, didn't you?"

"I briefly lost control," Spock reluctantly admitted. "I assure you, the issue will not arise again."

"Hey, _I'm _the one apologizing here," said Jim, but there was a teasing tone in his voice.

"You misunderstand. I was not apologizing for the incident."

Jim chuckled again, and Spock found that the sound was not unpleasant to his ears. "And people say you don't have a sense of humor."

"Humor is illogical."

"Well, that's kind of the point, really. Wouldn't really be humor if it wasn't." Jim gave Spock a sidelong glance. "I'm here to say sorry."

"You already have," Spock pointed out.

Jim waved a hand vaguely, still turning the pieces of the knight over and over in his other hand. "No, no. For before. You're right. I don't always think before I jump."

Spock frowned slightly and decided the odd phrase was due to an idiomatic expression. Humans always found a strange way to say something simple and uncomplicated.

Jim continued, "But you have to understand. It's not because I don't care." Jim turned his head fully now to gaze at Spock. He seemed to be trying to implore something with his eyes. Illogical, as optic organs were incapable of conveying information. Spock blinked. "It's because I do care. I care too much."

"I...do not completely understand."

Another low chuckle. He did not dislike the sound at all.

"You taking care of my ship?" Spock was strangely relieved at the change in topic. Although he felt the issue had not been resolved, he did not wish for it to become a point of conflict between them. He proceeded to inform the captain of the goings-on he had missed while in the medbay, his previous weariness almost completely forgotten. It was still there, but lurked in the shadows of his mind rather than blazing at their forefront. Whenever he was with Jim, everything else seemed to take second place. It was not, Spock admitted, an ideal situation, however it served him well and, as far as he knew, did not impede his duties in any way.

They chatted until a companionable silence took over where words had left off. Spock had somehow lost track of how much time had passed: a rare occurrence that left him feeling disgruntled. Jim was humming something under his breath, a musical tune that Spock did not recognize. He suspected it was a product of Jim's spastic concoction. He closed his eyes to better focus on the tune, feeling himself slowly drifting into a light meditative state. Jim was slightly tone-deaf, he realized with mild amusement, and catalogued the fact away into his growing files...

…

Spock had fallen asleep. Jim only realized this when his head dipped forward, then lolled sideways onto the mattress. He stopped humming then and raised his own head from the pillow to stare at the sight incredulously. So Spock _could_ sleep, after all. It was one of the greater mysteries of life that the crew of the _Enterprise_ had accepted as unsolvable. But he was definitely sleeping, eyes closed, deep breaths, the whole shebang. Jim was appropriately awed at the sight. He did feel a bit guilty now for taking the bed, but the walk up from medbay had been admittedly painful. His own quarters were closer and he wondered now why he had even ended up here. He had been in a half-drugged daze when he made his escape while Bones was taking a dump and hadn't been thinking clearly.

But he hadn't wanted to be alone, and somehow he knew that Spock would understand. In his long, _boring_ hours of solitude, he'd decided that whatever...weirdness had happened in the medbay, it was due to the fact that he had received about twenty hyposprays to the neck and was in no state of mind to make proper judgements. _Therefore_, whatever had happened had...happened, but it wouldn't happen again. That's what was most important.

Still, though. Spock looked...different like this. Not on guard. Almost...defenseless. Jim wondered if anyone had ever seen him like this before and wished he hadn't. Just the thought put him in a weird, dark mood. Seriously, though, how tired must the guy be to just conk out? Not to mention in front of someone else. He supposed he should feel a bit annoyed, since they _had _been talking before this, but he was mostly just flattered.

A communicator beeped somewhere and Jim reached for his belt automatically, scowling when he remembered it was down in medbay. It must be Spock's, then. He glanced warily down at Spock, who hadn't woken yet. The communicator beeped again, more insistently, and he cursed softly. He would have to get the damn thing before it woke Spock up, but then they would know he was here...no, he had to find it first. He pushed himself up to a sitting position slowly, clutching his side carefully. Spock's head rolled slightly as the mattress shifted, but he stayed asleep. _Wow, he must be frigging _exhausted.

Jim saw the communicator, hooked to Spock's waistband. He folded over the side of the bed awkwardly, fingers straining...his side twinged and he winced, but kept reaching...got it. He snagged the communicator and straightened, flipping it open. "Kirk here."

"Jim?" Uhura's tinny voice demanded. _Shit_. He hadn't really meant to say that. Well, it wasn't like he could impersonate Spock anyway.

"Heeey, Uhura. What's up?"

"What's-Aren't you supposed to be-?"

"Oh. Uh. Bones released me ahead of time. I'm clear to go."

"Oh _really_."

"Um, yeah. Pretty sure." Spock's head shifted and Jim's eyes snapped down. He was almost positive that Spock wouldn't like him chatting on his communicator. Luckily, he still managed to not wake up.

"Hmm. Where's Spock?"

"He's indisposed at the moment. Care to leave a message?"

"Indi-the hell does that mean?"

"It means that he is currently unavailable, Uhura. You know, I'm surprised. Doesn't this fit your job description or something?"

"...we're docking in twenty minutes, _Captain_."

"Right on. I'll be right up." He ended the call and bent over again, intending to return the communicator before Spock woke and-

"What are you doing, Jim?" The low voice was too close to his ear for comfort. Jim flinched and dropped the communicator. Spock was looking at him. _Looking _at him. Their faces were way too close to be healthy. Jim dropped his gaze, tried to formulate some kind of clever comeback. "I'm, um. Nothing." Not his most eloquent or inspiring speech, but it'd do in a pinch. He hoped.

Spock eyed him evenly. Jim wondered what he was thinking, behind those frustratingly dark eyes.

"So, uh. You have a nice nap?"

Spock's eyebrow rose magnificently and Jim swallowed hard, confused as hell about the sudden knot in his throat. "I was not...napping," Spock replied archly.

"You were. Like a baby."

"I assure you, Captain, I was merely in a meditative state in order to conserve energy." That damn eyebrow kept going higher and higher. Jim looked away before he could cause himself a heart disorder. Something was seriously very very wrong with him. Surely it was not natural to be attracted to an _eyebrow_. He considered himself an expert on things not natural, but surely this was too far past the normal line.

"The, um, the station. We'll be docking in twenty minutes."

"I see." Spock scooped up his communicator and returned it to his belt. His shirt rode up slightly when he bent his arm and Jim caught a flash of pale, green-tinged skin above his waistband. And then the moment was past and Spock was tugging his shirt down automatically and crossing the room to his closet. "I advise that you locate your proper attire, Captain, if you intend to returning to duty."

Jim looked down at his red shirt in surprise. "Ah. Uh, yeah. I will. I'll go do that now." He somehow got off the bed without falling over and made his way to the door. "See you later...I guess." God, that was so lame. Had he really just said that? Real smooth there, Kirk.

"Yes, Captain." There had definitely been amusement in Spock's voice that time. His other eyebrow twitched threateningly and Jim left quickly before things _really_ got embarrassing.

He stopped by his own rooms to change into his uniform before making his way to the bridge. Spock was already there, the sneaky goblin, waiting all prim and ready at his station. "Captain on ze bridge," Chekov greeted.

"Hey there, Chekov." Jim couldn't help slapping the kid's shoulder on his way past. "Sulu."

"Aye, Captain. Glad to see you back."

"Uhura."

"Bones is pissed at you."

"Ah, he'll get over it." He reached his chair and patted it fondly. "Did you miss me, baby? I missed_ you_." He swiveled around slightly, nodded gravely at Spock. "I missed you, too."

Eyebrow. "Captain."

Uhura cleared her throat loudly-with fondness, Jim liked to think-and tapped a key at her console. "Transmission from Station K-6, Captain."

"Bring 'er up."

An image fizzled on the screen, snapping into the face of...

"Admiral Pike," Jim said, slightly surprised. More than slightly. He hadn't spoken with Pike for some time, having been busy on research expeditions around the galaxy. "What brings you out here?"

"Vacation," Pike grunted. "Heard the cliffs on Sumiko IV were to die for." He gave Jim a meaningful once-over. "Though I guess you would know something about that."

Jim laughed. "Yeah, that was _great_. I know this one guy there if you want to check out the-"

"Maybe later, Jim. I've got a mission for you. HQ knew I was in the area, so," Pike shrugged, "here I am."

"Not another run for the botany labs, I hope."

"Not at all. This one's more up your alley." Pike turned to shuffle something around and Jim took the opportunity to flail in celebration. He didn't _hate_ collecting data for the labs, per se, since it at least got him undocked long enough to stretch his legs, but it had been getting a bit dull as of late. Giant boars could only get so interesting after a day in the medbay, after all.

"_Here_ it is. Damn files," Pike grumbled, spinning back around. "Two science vessels were dispatched to Leonis II over the course of the past three months. Neither of them returned on schedule. Normally, it'd be assumed that they found something interesting and camped down for a while. You know the science types."

"Uh huh," Jim agreed dryly, thinking of the last time he had mistaken plant samples for a salad and Spock had spent the next two hours analyzing the resulting pile of eject.

"That's normally. There were no transmissions received from Leonis II from either vessel. Regulations state that extensions of stay must be reported to headquarters."

"So, you want us to find them?"

"Just some recon work, Kirk. Don't get ahead of yourself," Pike cautioned. "You don't need to actually land."

"Boring."

A muscle twitched in Pike's jaw. "I apologize if this mission doesn't completely cater to your...needs, Kirk."

"Hmm. We'll take it." Jim grinned. "Maybe I'll see you at the station?"

"You won't be docking, Jim. You're to head out for Leonis at once."

"What? But we've-come on, Pike, we've been out in space for almost six months. We've got repairs to make, Scotty's been after some up-"

"Sorry, kid. This is an emergency." Pike coughed, looking slightly embarrassed. "Truth is, uh. There's a bit of a diplomacy issue riding on this."

Jim spluttered. "What? Diplomacy? I thought this was a science field trip!"

"Well, it is. It's just one that one of the scientists just happens to be the daughter of, uh. A certain official." Pike appeared to be genuinely uncomfortable. Jim leaned forward, completely intrigued at this point. The members of the bridge crew suddenly seemed very busy, yet completely silent.

"Who is it?"

"I don't believe that you need to know that, Captain Kirk."

"Come _on_, tell-"

"How badly are you in need of repairs? Your ship falling apart? Warp core damaged?"

"Uh, no, but-"

"You are hereby cleared for travel, Captain. Consider this your lucky day,"

"Pike, come on, man-"

"That's Admiral to you, kid." The transmission was cut.

Jim slouched back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "Well, this sucks," he mumbled. He had planned on spending his shore leave hitting up the station bars...getting laid...he really needed to get laid...

Sulu twisted around in his seat. "Captain, your orders?"

Jim gave another long-suffering sigh. "Set a course for Leonis II, Mr. Sulu. Looks like we're going to find ourselves some researchers.'

"Aye, sir."

"Captain," said a quiet voice behind him. "If I may have a word with you."

…

Jim looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise. "What's up, Spock?"

Spock tucked the datapad securely under his arm and tilted his head slightly towards the bridge door. "A word, Captain."

Jim stood immediately. "Sure. Mr. Sulu, the conn."

"Aye, sir," came the slightly weary reply. At this rate, Spock could not help but think, Hikaru Sulu would soon become the permanent captain of the _Enterprise_. He was surprised at himself for the jesting tone of his own thoughts. Perhaps he was merely in an illogical mood. He had, after all, just hacked into the Starfleet database and procured the personal files of all the scientific researchers assigned to the missing vessels.

He followed Jim out into the corridor and into an empty conference room, at his own suggestion. Jim gave him a questioning look, but unlocked the door and let them in. As soon as the doors shut, he threw his hands up. "So what's with all the secrecy, Spock?"

"I merely did not wish our conversation to be overheard, Captain."

"You-you've got something to tell me, then." Jim's voice sounded...odd. Spock did not recognize the emotion in his words and paused, puzzled. "Yes, Jim. I do." Was it possible that Jim already knew of his actions?

Jim stepped closer, a strange glint in his blue eyes. Spock found himself taking a step back unconsciously. The edge of the conference room table bumped against the back of his thighs and he was forced to cease his retreat. Retreat? When did he _retreat_ from anyone? This was a most illogical situation.

"You were saying?" He was not aware that Jim's voice possessed such a husky edge. He cleared his throat, presented the datapad to Jim. "I took the liberty of procuring the files of the missing researchers. I assumed that you would have asked this me eventually and therefore pursued the most efficient route." He had also wanted to make Jim...happy. It was a strange urge, one he was not certain he had felt before except when in the company of his mother.

Jim took the PADD after a moment of hesitation, not meeting Spock's eyes, and scanned the list of names. "I see you've created a separate filing system for the female researchers. Well done."

Spock tried to stifle rising satisfaction and failed. "Yes, sir, I presumed you would be curious as to the identity of the unknown official's daughter."

Jim glanced up at that, his eyes smiling conspiratorially over the top of the datapad. "And you're not curious at all yourself, are you, Mr. Spock?"

"I...am sufficiently interested in the matter," Spock confessed. "I thought it exceedingly odd that we were not permitted time to resupply and undergo maintenance at the station."

"Indeed, Mr. Spock, indeed..." Jim murmured, clearly aiming for an enigmatic tone, but striking rather below the mark, Spock thought.

"Wait, who's this?" Jim's voice rose excitedly, jabbing a finger at the PADD. Spock was forced to walk over and crane over Jim's shoulder in order to read the name. Carol Wallace. "I _know_ her. But...it's not quite right..."

"The name is not...totally unfamiliar," Spock agreed, though suitable puzzled. Surely, if this Carol Wallace was part of the science department, he would have caught mention if her name at some period of time. He set himself to the task of methodically searching his memory for such an encounter.

"Carol," Jim was muttering. "Carol, Carol, _Carol_..." Spock was on the verge of suggesting that perhaps he ought to mutter the girl's last name, as it would most likely increase the likelihood of identification, when Jim let out a triumphant cry, "_Carol_. Carol Marcus! Admiral Marcus has a daughter in arms research, doesn't he?"

"I..." Spock struggled to not feel slightly put out that Jim had reached this conclusion sooner than himself. _It is unreasonable to think so,_ he scolded himself. _The captain is not a stupid man._ "Yes, I believe he does."

"What's a weapon specialist doing on a research vessel?" Jim wondered aloud. "Surely they didn't tote cannons with them to Leonis."

"I believe that the planet in question is relatively uninhabited but for a few native, peaceful tribes. The local surface fauna is also less than threatening. Therefore, it is illogical that the vessels would have borne arms on the expedition."

"So _why _would-shit." Jim, in the middle of the wild gesticulations he was prone to while thinking out loud, suddenly faltered and clutched at his side.

"Jim?" Spock was instantly alarmed. He grasped the captain's elbow, resisting the urge to sound the alarm and rush him back down to the medbay. "Are you in pain?"

"No, no, I'm fine." Jim put on a stoic face when he noticed Spock's concern and straightened. "Just stretched the wrong way."

Spock did not release Jim's arm. "You have not yet been cleared by Dr. McCoy," he said quietly. "I insist that you return for a scan."

Jim shook him off irritably and Spock let go, fearing that resistance would simply serve to strain Jim even further. "Spock, I'm completely fine. Really. One hundred percent better."

"Oh?" Spock replied acidly. He jabbed at Jim's side, mindful of the precise amount of pressure to exert, and could not help feeling a spike of satisfaction when Jim jerked and groaned in discomfort. "It is my observation, Captain, that you are not, in fact, at your one hundred percent. If anything, you are barely at sixty."

Jim coughed, most likely to hide another groan. "You...only call me Captain...when you're pissed at me," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "It's kind of...a turn-on."

Spock's mind refused to compute the last bizarre comment and he moved on smoothly past it, though the odd phrase left him feeling...ruffled. "I call you Captain to remind you of your responsibilities. And of my own."

"Remind me...again. Are you my babysitter, Spock?"

"Negative, Captain. I am your First Officer. I am also..." Spock hesitated. "I am also your friend, Jim. I do not enjoy the sight of you in needless pain."

Jim gave him a strange look, body tensing as if he was restraining some strong force. Finally, he seemed to sag and submit. "Okay, you win. I'll go see Bones."

"I believe a celebration is in order," Spock deadpanned and was rewarded with a delighted burst of laughter.

Jim insisted that he did not need to be "walked down like a two-year-old at a zoo," and left for the medbay alone. Spock returned to the bridge, mind humming with deep-seated satisfaction, and proceeded to compile a file on the elusive Carol Marcus.

**A/N:...Apparently, I have a thing for sleeping ST boys, because somebody's been asleep in every chapter thus far. IS THIS A PROBLEM I HAVE I DON'T KNOW BUT IT'S SOMEHOW REALLY SEXY AND APPEALING TO ME OKAY.**

**GAH.**

**I'm starting to get the hang of switching perspectives, though it's still kind of unstructured and crap -_- **

**I will get better at this. Right now I'm just kind of slinging POVs left and right whenever I run out of steam on one of them. Sorry if Jim's a bit...off. For some reason I find writing Spock's POV much easier and it pretty much writes itself. The only problem I really have with him is that I have to bend him into a slashy state. Because otherwise I would just motor on and he'd be all logical and Vulcany and still hot but NOT HOT ENOUGH. Jim is a bit harder to be consistent on because he's a really complex character and it's a bit hard to try and keep all his complexities when I just want him to be HOT and HORNY and COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY IN NEED OF LOVE. So yeah. I'm tryyingggggggg ;_;**

**Reviews are totally wanted and appreciated. Even a few words makes me really happy, because it means I kind of know what I'm doing after all.**

**This is a very long note. I am sorry. And also an unnecessarily long chapter. I just needed to get all this out at some point.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ummm so yeah sorry if this story seems to be...not quite what you might have expected. I think I'll have to change the summary. It's kind of evolving into a whole mini adventure kind of deal. DANG IT I just wanted them to stay on the ship and be happy and angsty and kiss and do stuff but my hand slipped (oops) and now they have to rescue friggin Carol Marcus who somehow ended up in here I don't know anymore I'm sorry.**

**BUT KEEP READING. DON'T LEAVE ME. I SWEAR THEY'RE STILL IN LOVE THEY JUST DON'T KNOW IT YET BUT WE ALL KNOW I MEAN COME ON REALLY. Cheers. Here's hoping I don't screw up on their adventure because now that it's happening it's gotta be dang good. Next fic is definitely gonna be of the short and fluffy variety.**

**Bottoms up. Cheerio. Reviews maybe...? Make me happy and motivated to write more? WINK WONK.**

**edit: Um...so I'm editing this after finishing the chapter. A teensy bit of M-warning ahead. Just a bit. It was totally unplanned sooooooo yeah. Here's your PSA.**

Chapter Four

Jim had kept the chess piece. He had meant to leave it in Spock's room, but somehow that had simply not happened. He had stuck his hands in his pockets absently as the _Enterprise_ circled Leonis II lazily, drifting in the planet's orbit, and felt the pieces scraping against his fingers. He rubbed the pieces now, like a lucky charm, as he looked down at Leonis II from the observation deck. It was a small planet, slightly larger than Mercury, and it was _purple_. Purple and red, tending towards blue where, Jim correctly surmised, the oceans lay. He had seen about three oceans so far in their two hours of orbit and some little ones that he had amused himself with by trying to classify them as either wimpy seas or badass lakes.

Uhura had suggested that they send out transmissions at regular intervals in the hopes that one of the research vessels would eventually respond. Jim doubted that anything of the sort would happen. If the vessels were able to respond, then they would have done so ages ago. Something had gone wrong on the surface. He was completely convinced of this, but had yet to bring it up. If he turned out to be wrong, and he knew he wasn't but if he _was_, then Spock and Bones would be right about him just jumping in without looking and he'd never live it down. He'd wait one more hour, he told himself. He squeezed the base of the chess piece until his knuckles popped. Just one more hour. And he would bring up the question of sending down a search party.

Pike hadn't explicitly forbidden a landing party, after all. And Jim practically lived in loopholes. He rubbed his side thoughtfully, the bandages itching slightly against his healing ribs. Bones had blown up when he had sidled back in the medbay, grinning apologetically and offering a peace offering of his own body. After about fifteen minutes of noise, the doctor had finally calmed down enough to scan Jim and proclaimed him absolutely useless until his ribs knitted up.

"The more you move around, the longer it'll take," had been the final verdict, accompanied by a gruff poke in the tender area in question. "So sit tight and don't be running any marathons or you'll be down faster than a bee in a typhoon."

One day, he would ask Bones where he had heard half the things he said.

He wondered, very suddenly, if Scotty could...he decided promptly that he had time for a short visit.

He found the engineer wrapped around an intimidating section of piping, the entire upper half of his body completely out of sight. One leg was hooked securely in place while the other dangled and kicked in midair, Gaelic curses ringing down from whatever dark pit Scotty had wiggled into.

Jim jumped as a hissing cloud of steam erupted obnoxiously beside his head and backed away from the offensive vent, scowling. "Scotty!" he called. "Hey!" There was a clang as Scotty undoubtedly smashes his head against something very substantial and a resulting, "_Dam_mit." A wrench unexpectedly sailed down, narrowly missing Jim's right foot by no more than three inches.

Scotty popped down, hanging from the ceiling by a hand and a leg, his head, arms, and torso smeared with a thick black goop. "Oi," he demanded, an indignant whine to his normally agitated tone. "What's the big idea here, eh? Could've smashed you up real good there, Jimmy." He pushed up his goggles as he spoke, squinting. The skin around his eyes seemed blindingly white against the grease covering his face, so that Scotty looked like some bizarre inverted panda.

Jim did not hesitate to inform Scotty of this and the man scowled, climbing down the wall like a monkey and landing with an unappealing splat of goop. "Aye, we've got a few problems down here alright. Pandas ain't the half of it. This fine lady deserves more than we're givin' her, Cap."

"I know, Scotty. But I'll make it worth your while. You know that system upgrade you've been itching for?" Jim lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I found you a deal."

Scotty's panda eyes lit up. "You mean you've-"

"Yeah, I have. And I'll hook you up soon as we're out of this mess. But look here, Scotty. I need you to see if you can fix something for me."

"Jimmy, I can fix anything."

Jim laughed. "Fair enough. All right, here." He held out the pieces of the knight. Scotty squinted, bending over Jim's hand to get a better look. A drop of oil plopped onto Jim's fingers from the engineer's nose. "What's that you've got there?"

"It's a knight. From Spock's chess set."

"Naw, not that big thing he got from his pops?"

"Yeah."

"And ya _broke_ it?"

Jim's shoulders hunched in self-defense. "Well, _I _didn't. I just-Spock did. But it was my fault. Mostly."

"Huh." Scotty stripped off his greasy gloves and tucked them into his belt. "Well, I'll have me a look at it for ya." He lifted the knight from Jim's hand and Jim felt an odd urge to close his fingers over the pieces protectively. But then they were gone and he thrust his empty hand in his pocket, feeling slightly confused.

"That all you've got for me, Jim?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, thanks, Scotty. See you around."

He left the engineer to climb back up into the ceiling and wandered the corridors absentmindedly. There was nothing for him to do while they were in orbit and he was desperately, mindnumbingly bored. Uhura was busy sending transmissions, Sulu and Chekov were monitoring their flight. Even Spock was busy in his labs. Jim had been expressly forbidden by Spock from entering the labs, after a particular incident in which he had mistaken growth hormone for potting soil and the specimens had erupted in a massive explosion of greenery. Two months of research he had ruined, and he only wanted to _help._

Without knowing, he had wandered down to the botany labs. The walls sealing the room off from the corridor were glass, so that he could see inside without entering. He leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, and observed the interior of the labs.

There were three scientists prowling the rows of tables and racks, and then there was Spock. He was supposed to be supervising, but Jim saw that he had donned a white coat and appeared to be lecturing an intern on the properties of alkaline-based soil or some other rot. The poor girl looked terrified. Jim caught her eye and made ghoulish faces behind Spock's back, smirking when her face began to twitch with suppressed laughter.

Spock paused, then turned with bizarrely good timing to catch Jim in the middle of an especially horrific expression. He uncrossed his eyes and snapped the muscles in his face back in position and offered a sheepish grin. He could feel the pure exasperation in Spock's eyes and it only served to widen his grin.

Spock finally turned away and said something that made the girl erupt into giggles. Jim scowled, his mood souring immediately in a sickly twist of jealousy. Of whom, he couldn't say.

…

Spock found Jim in the observation deck, standing with his back to the door. His silhouette was dark against the glowing violet planet far, far below, shoulders hunched and hands clasped behind his back as he stared down through the glass window. Spock slipped onto the deck quietly and waited.

Jim turned slowly and looked at Spock. He looked older for a moment, and weary. Spock was unable to release the unwavering blue gaze and merely stood, looking back. "Jim" he heard himself say, quietly, and Jim blinked and looked away.

"Spock," he greeted with his usual grin. But there was something diminished about it, Spock now noticed. Something he wouldn't have seen before if he had not observed the other Jim. The faded Jim with the sorrowful eyes.

He forced himself to look down at the PADD in his hand, what he had brought to show Jim in the first place. "The research on Carol Marcus," he explained, proffering the datapad. "She has quite the impressive credentials."

Jim took the PADD and grinned wolfishly. "She's got impressive _looks_, you mean."

Spock glanced at the image of the young blond woman, unable to summon much interest. Aesthetically speaking, he thought the color of Jim's eyes were by far superior to Carol Marcus. "I have included several items of correspondence between Carol and her father."

"You hacked their personal messages?" Jim sounded more than a little amused. Spock would never understand humans' sense of humor, much less that of Jim Kirk's.

"I thought it...necessary."

Jim snorted and scanned the rest of the datapad, whistling in appreciation. "Our Admiral's daughter's got _quite_ the credentials. I mean, look at her certifications! Scotty would like her."

"Indeed," Spock responded evenly, an unidentifiable feeling flooding his chest. He felt...uncomfortable. He paused, puzzled at this unexpected reaction. Surely it was no business of his that Jim found this Carol Marcus attractive. She did possess several physical characteristics that were well within the bounds of beauty set by the human race, as well as an evident abundance of intelligence.

Therefore, his fixation on the female was perfectly logical. Spock possessed several impressive credentials himself, possibly even more than this Carol Marcus, and while he was inexperienced in the matter, he had once been informed that he was considered aesthetically pleasing to both Vulcans and humans. A slight quirk of his unique genetic makeup, certainly.

He blinked. His thoughts had certainly spiraled off in an unexpected direction. A result of his lack of sleep, no doubt. After the transmission from Admiral Pike, he had been kept busy catching up on duties left unattended while he held command and had not found sufficient time to rest. He considered excusing himself from his next bridge shift, but swiftly extinguished the idea. He had not missed a shift yet, and he did not plan to stop now. "Negligence breeds inefficiency," his father had told him once. "And inefficiency leads to weakness. You must not become weak, Spock." _Yes, Father._

"Spock?"

Spock blinked again. "My apologies, Captain. I was...thinking."

Jim eyed him contemplatively, then said, "I've been reading their mail. Looks like our princess here had a tiff with her father a few weeks ago and ran off on a universal road trip. She sent him _postcards_." Jim sounded slightly awed at the nerve of the Marcus girl. Spock felt another stab of displeasure. "Anyway, judging by the postcard trail, the last place she was at was Sumiko IV."

"The Cliffs of Heaven," Spock recalled. "A popular tourist destination, it appears."

"Exactly. Not far from Station K-6." Jim grinned. "And where the research vessels were dispatched from."

Spock blinked slowly. "I see. She stowed away."

"Probably wanted to see Leonis up and personal. I mean, it's pretty out of the way. Only research vessels would be able to make it up here." Jim turned his head and gazed down at the planet once more. "But something's gone wrong." This last statement was uttered in a murmur, as if not completely intended to be heard.

"I beg your pardon?" Spock asked carefully, wishing to clarify the issue.

Jim glanced at him warily. "Nothing. It's just a...feeling I have."

Spock raised an eyebrow and waited. Sure enough, Jim could not resist such a submissive audience and relented. "I don't think we're going to get any transmissions from the vessels, Spock. Wouldn't they have answered by now? We've practically nuked the atmosphere with signals."

"It is...unusual that we have received no response after 3.3 hours," Spock admitted. He had been thinking much of the same thing himself, but had not yet attempted to convey the thought to Uhura. After the end of their brief romantic involvement several weeks after Nero, Spock had been somewhat wary of Uhura. She did not project a general air of hostility towards him and they were on quite civil speaking terms, indeed bordering on the verge of comfortable friendship, but some primeval masculine instinct had prevented him from breaking the cloud of concentration she had immersed herself in on the bridge.

"Precisely. I think..." Jim hesitated, tongue flicking at the corner of his mouth absently. Spock's eyes darted to the movement, all thoughts of Uhura suddenly and quite completely banished. "I think we need to beam down a search party."

"Your suggestion is...not wholly unpredicted," Spock answered, after a moment of deliberation. "In fact, I am somewhat surprised that you have not yet raised the issue."

Jim looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well...you made it pretty clear in the medbay what you thought about that."

Ah. He had thought that Jim would remember, much less take it to heart. It was...pleasing to know. Spock struggled with the baffling warmth of the emotion, attempting to contain it behind a wall of cool logic. Jim was the captain, after all. Part of his duties entailed at least occasionally listening to the advice of his First. And while Jim was by no means an ordinary Captain, he must carry out certain responsibilities.

He realized Jim was waiting for some sort of reply and hastily concocted what he hoped would be a suitable response. "Thank...you, I suppose. I was not certain that you had completely understood my intentions."

Jim looked slightly offended. "What, you don't think I can pull my head out of my ass long enough to listen to other people?"

Spock was completely bewildered at this point. "Jim, I find it highly unlikely that your cranium is physically capable of fitting in your rectum, however fascinating the thought may be-"

Jim snorted loudly and folded over, shaking. Spock's first reaction was that of concern. Had Jim somehow managed to injure himself _again_ in the short time he had been left unattended? A squeaky wheeze trailed thinly into the air and Spock then realized that he was laughing. He stood stiffly, uncertain as to what he might have said or done to incur such hilarity. This happened often with Jim, and while Spock found the sound of his laughter...pleasant, he did not often enjoy the state of confusion he was inevitably left in.

"Sorry," Jim gasped, finally managing to get ahold of himself. "It's just-_God,_ Spock, don't ever change."

"What aspect of myself are you referring to?"

Jim gestured vaguely. "That. Everything. Just...don't ever stop making me laugh." Another stray chuckle escaped, crinkling his eyes.

"I did not intend to," Spock responded, truly mystified. "I will admit to possessing some fascination in that particular human function."

"Surely Vulcans laugh _sometime."_

"I have never heard laughter among my race during my time on the planet," Spock said truthfully. "The concept of the act is considered extremely inappropriate." His mother had laughed often, however. A pang of sorrow stirred faintly in his mind, shuddering through his chest. He shifted his weight slightly, hoping it would resolve the unsettling emotion. He had thought himself to be past the tragedy, but it appeared that he still cultivated a certain grief within.

"Huh. Kind of like farting in public, I guess?"

Spock was beginning to wonder at the depth of Jim's interest in the subject. He found himself saying, "Not at all. Flatuation is a completely natural process and can not be suppressed through any degree of mental discipline. To think of it an inappropriate function is completely illogical."

Jim stared at Spock incredulously, his half-open mouth beginning to curl into a grin. "You're _kidding."_

Spock merely raised an eyebrow.

Jim's grin was evolving into a full-on gape when his communicator beeped. Casting a final, awestruck glance at Spock, he answered. "Kirk here."

"This is Uhura. We've received a distress signal from an unknown vessel. I think it's one of the research vessels."

Jim gave Spock another incredulous look. "From one of the vessels? Are you sure?"

Uhura's response carried an edge of impatience. "Yes, Captain, I'm _sure_. It came from the surface and was scrambled beyond belief, but it was definitely a distress signal."

Jim was already striding towards the door, Spock close at his heels. "I'll be right up. We'll need to form and ready a landing party in one hour. I'll need an engineer, maybe two, definitely a scientist-"

Spock reached out and snapped the communicator shut without warning. He had heard enough. "You intend on joining the search party," he stated, almost accusingly. After all Jim had said about listening to Spock's advice, he was planning to endanger himself once more. This was unacceptable.

They were in the turbolift before Jim answered. "I do." That old defiance sizzled behind his words. Spock had no patience left in him for such folly. He reached across Jim and stopped the lift.

"Spock," Jim exclaimed angrily, "what-"

"No."

"W-what do-"

"I think you understand me quite well, Captain." Spock was dimly aware that what he was doing was highly illogical, that Jim was a grown man and fully capable of making his own decisions. Unwise decisions. Decisions that could result in injury or even the unthinkable. And Spock, logic aside, _would not let that happen._

Jim's eyes glittered in the harsh light of the turbolift, the blue orbs hardened by righteous anger. Spock had not lowered his arm from the lift controls, barring Jim from muscling past. "Spock. You can't tell me to not go. People are in danger. They could be-"

"You can not know that."

"I can't take that chance! They sent a _distress_ signal, what else could it-"

"You do not know the identity of the individual who transmitted that signal, nor the circumstances in which it was sent."

"Who else could have sent it? You said it yourself, there's practically nothing living there!"

"The fact remains that it is completely unnecessary for you to personally join the search party. You are neither a scientist nor-"

"I'm the captain and I'll go where I damn well please-"

"_All _the more reason that you should not carelessly invite calamity upon your person!"

"You-I can't just sit up here while men and women could be _dying _down there!"

"You jump to extreme conclusions without evidence."

"I can't-"

"I?" Spoke spoke softly. Jim was breathing heavily, shaking with suppressed fury. Spock could _feel_ the anger Jim was projecting so strongly, mingling with his own in a curious swirl. And also, mixed in with indignation and rage, _fear_. Spock stepped forward, bringing them closer. Jim stood his ground, practically bristling. The air seemed to crackle with heavy, silent words. Everything outside the lift was of no relevance compared to the storm brewing in the small space between them. "You seem to believe that this is your responsibility and yours alone. You are mistaken."

"I'm the captain, I have to-"

"Jim."

Jim froze, mouth furiously working in silence. His face had flushed red from the exertion of shouting.

"What are you afraid of?"

Jim spluttered. "I'm not-what are you-"

"I can feel your fear, Jim. Hear it in your voice." Spock's eyes fell on Jim's parted lips and were unable to look away. His own heartrate seemed to be fluctuating alarmingly, a deep thrumming fluttering in his side. "Taste it in the air. You are afraid." The anger and tension in the air melted away, so completely that there was little sign of it ever being present.

Jim reached up, almost unconsciously, and gripped Spock's arm, still extended before his face. Spock blinked at the unexpected contact, but could not pull away. "I am not afraid, Spock," Jim told him quietly. He squeezed Spock's arm reassuringly. "I'll be fine."

"Fine is an unacceptable descriptor," Spock reminded him severely.

Jim gave a soft laugh at that. His fingers suddenly seemed very hot through the fabric of Spock's sleeve. Spock restarted the turbolift and moved his arm down from the wall self-consciously, but Jim, inexplicably, did not let go. Instead, his hand slid down, lightly tracing Spock's forearm, and locked loosely around his wrist. "I'll be careful," he whispered, giving Spock's arm a light squeeze.

Spock found himself leaning forward, mesmerized by the pressure just above his hand, the earnest blue gaze reeling him in. And Jim was not stopping him, was not letting go. A black, yawning hole was spinning into existence in his chest, swallowing all reason and logic and leaving behind only what he had been refusing to see, what he had been unable to comprehend-

The doors slid open and Spock jerked away. Jim's fingers slipped from his wrist and they stood there for a second or two-Spock seemed to have lost all sense of time-searching for a reason and an excuse and finding none.

"The bridge," Spock finally said, very quietly.

"Bridge," Jim agreed, his voice only slightly unsteady, and led the way out. Spock followed, just a step behind. That hole still gnawed at the edges of his being, stirring him in strange and unknown ways and leaving him...unsatisfied. Incomplete. He would not be able to ignore it for long, nor continue to neglect the whirlpool of emotions it had unearthed from the deepest depths of his mind. But for now, he would wait. Jim needed Spock to be there for him, even if he didn't know it himself, and Spock would be there, incomplete or not.

It was, after all, his duty.

...

The final landing party was composed of five security officers, Bones-who had immediately jumped aboard when he heard that Jim would be going, Nurse Chapel, Sulu, three scientists, two of Scotty's wrench-swingers, and Jim himself.

They were suiting up in the transport room when Spock made a sudden appearance, a disturbingly determined glint in his dark eyes. He strode into the room, head swiveling like a periscope on a submarine. A very attractive periscope. On a very sleek and defined-_oh shit_.

Bones, who had been conveniently shielding Jim from view, bent over to show Chapel how to stow the dermal regenerator, and Jim found himself meeting the searching gaze of a suddenly fixated Vulcan. Jim looked down quickly, doing his best to ignore the sense of impending doom as Spock began to move, and continued stuffing his satchel with supplies. Spock stopped beside him, so close that their shoulders almost brushed. For someone who was supposed to have a strict hands-free zone, Spock seemed to have a terrible sense of personal space.

"Jim," he said quietly. Jim could no longer keep up the act. He picked up a small bag of nuts and dried fruit, hefted it in his hand, and sighed. "Look, Spock, I'm going. I don't ca-"

"I would like to join the party."

Jim dropped the snack bag, alarmed enough to turn and look at his First Officer. Spock merely stared back, expression completely unreadable, and offered no further explanation. "Spock, wait, you _can't_. You're in command of the-"

"I believe Mr. Sulu is well qualified to hold command in my place," Spock replied dryly. "He is certainly experienced in the area by now."

"But why-"

"If you insist on endangering your life needlessly, Jim, surely you have no right to protest to my own presence on this venture. My reasons are my own." And the Vulcan reached over and began packing his own bag.

Jim spluttered. "B-But. It'll be dangerous, Spock." It was a stupid thing to say, but the only thing he had left in his swiftly diminishing arsenal. After all, he was possibly the least qualified person on the ship to make an argument towards safety.

Spock quirked an eyebrow smoothly. "I assure you, Captain, that danger will not be an issue."

Jim searched for another reason to say "no", found none, and scowled fiercely. "Whatever. Do what you want."

"Aye, sir."

He had never wanted to rip those pointy ears off so bad. But secretly, or perhaps not so secretly, he wasn't completely appalled at the thought of Spock coming along. What had happened in the turbolift had...happened. He didn't know what it meant, or if Spock had felt the same...spark as he had, but something was definitely different between them now. A certain understanding, he supposed. Unable to suppress a grin, he zipped up his satchel and swung it over his shoulder. "I feel like a kiddie on a field trip."

"As our duration of stay is uncertain, it is best to be prepared for all circumstances." Spock said, voice slipping into his lecture mode. "Also, we are unfamiliar with the conditions of the surface and therefore-"

"Captain!"

Jim whirled around, startled at Scotty's shout. The engineer was bent over the transport controls, hands flying over the panels. "We've got an unauthorized transport beaming our way, sir! From the bugging planet!"

Jim shouldered his way through the mass of suddenly clamoring officers, aware of Spock's flowing presence just behind him. He reached Scotty's side just as the man slapped the panel in frustration. "I can't stop it, sir. The package is arriving in six, five-"

"Clear the platform!" Jim bellowed. The two security detail perched on the platform looked startled and all but fell off in their haste to move away. Threads of light appeared, swirling and lengthening and with a flash of light, there was someone standing on the platform.

A rustle of movement and every phaser in the room was locked on the slight figure wavering on bare, bleeding feet.

The transport room was deathly silent.

Carol Marcus pushed back her tangled hair with a shaking hand and said, in a clear and unwavering voice, "I think I'm going to pass out now."

She then promptly toppled off the platform. "Bones," Jim snapped, and the doctor rushed forward, Chapel dragging their medicine bag behind him. "Everyone out! Regroup in six hours." He waved his arm impatiently, shooing out his landing party, and hurried forward.

"Well, I'll be damned," Scotty scowled. "A wee lass hacked my codes." There was a hint of admiration mixed with his thick accent.

"Affirmative," Jim heard Spock say.

"How is she?" he asked anxiously, crouching beside Bones. Carol's blue science officer uniform was torn and filthy, the skin beneath bruised and scraped. She was breathing, he was relieved to see. Something told him that Admiral Marcus would not be pleased if they brought back his daughter's body.

Bones had a tricorder and six hypos clutched in one hand, a seventh clenched between his teeth. "Bnjkfndsk," he mumbled. Jim waited politely until he had dispatched enough hypos to clear his mouth. "She'll be fine. A bit bashed up to be sure, but alive."

"Well, this puts a kink in things."

"You don't say," Bones remarked sarcastically. "What are you planning to do now, Jim? Clearly there's something very wrong down there. You can't go down without knowing an-"

"Carol will tell us when she wakes up, I'm sure." Jim stood. "This doesn't change anything. There are still twenty-three other scientists missing."

"Well, I hope you know what you're getting into," Bones said doubtfully. "This," he gestured at Carol's crumpled form, "doesn't happen to a scientist out on a flower-picking lark."

Jim was about to agree when a low voice spoke by his ear. "Captain."

Jim jumped and scowled. Spock had a walk like a cat's and wasn't afraid to use it. He took a step back involuntarily from the sudden _closeness_ of the man and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "What?"

Spock's eyes scrutinized his face closely, as if searching for the answer to an unasked question. Jim could see a hesitation in his gaze, a gleam of something that might have been curiosity. His mouth opened, perhaps to ask that very question, then shut abruptly. Something seemed to switch off in his face, closing it off completely. "I...apologize. I seem to have forgotten my initial query."

Well, Jim was pretty damn curious now, and that excuse was more bull than he had thought Spock capable of giving. "You have an eidetic memory," he pointed out.

Spock looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It is not a matter of importance."

"So you do remember!" Jim said triumphantly.

"Take this outside, you two," Bones growled irritably. "I've got a stretcher coming in two minutes and you're bugging the hell out of me."

Jim blinked. "Oh." He had almost forgotten where they were, in his excitement over finally catching Spock in a logical error. "Well. Come on, Spock. You can tell me whatever it is outside."

"Captain, I-" Spock was definitely floundering now. Jim grinned. He was going to milk this for all he's got. After all, it would probably never happen again. "Come along, Spock," he teased, leading the way out. He didn't look back, because he knew where Spock would be as surely as he was aware of the location of his right arm.

They ended up back in the empty observation deck. Jim had intended on hashing this out in his quarters, but his curiosity had finally gotten the best of him and he had ducked into the nearest room available. Spock stood behind him now, hands folded primly behind his back, though his face betrayed a slight crease of anxiety between his eyebrows.

"Now. What is it that you so conveniently forgot?"

…

Spock had lost control of the situation. He had not planned on this confrontation happening so quickly, or at all. He did not, in fact, have anything to ask of the captain. He had merely approached him for the sake of speaking to him, being close to him.

Most illogical. And extremely frustrating.

After the...incident in the turbolift, he had been unable to suppress the rising wave of restlessness within him, calling him to some unknown action. It bothered him intensely that his body seemed to be more aware of his needs than his own mind, drawing him closer to Jim that he had ever dared to move before. Calling him with no purpose in mind. Gazing into his eyes just to be fascinated once more by the brilliance behind them.

"What is it, Spock?" Jim asked again.

"I..." _I have nothing to say_. Spock was floored by the staggering implications of this realization. Never in his life had he been at such a complete loss for words. But the sight of Jim, the presence of Jim, had wiped out everything left within him and he was exposed and bare. There were no words to say, no excuses to give for his irrational behavior. Something wild had seized Spock, some burning, raging urge that could not be contained with something so rigid and fragile as logic and rationality.

Spock lunged forward, completely and utterly void of any form of physical or mental restraint, and seized the front of Jim's shirt. His motion sent them both stumbling, Jim grunting as his back slammed against the wall. Their bodies were pressed flush against each other, chests heaving together. Jim's face gleamed with sweat, bright spots of color in his cheeks. "What the hell, Spock?" he demanded, eyes glittering in shock. Spock leaned forward unconsciously, all too aware of his own heightened heart rate. His heart thrummed in his side, slightly below Jim's own pulse against his skin.

"Spock!" Jim shoved at him, but Spock ignored the blow, sliding his knee between Jim's legs and bringing them even closer together. Why had he not done this before? This is what he had so desperately craved, had longed for, had thirsted for so deeply. But he needed to be closer still, more than touching. He needed to know Jim was his to hold close, to _protect_, to be so united that they breathed the same air and moved with one heart and one mind and soul until red and green blood mingled together and they were no longer obstructed by something so foolish as separate bodies.

He leaned closer and closer, only half aware that Jim had finally stopped speaking. Had stopped breathing. Their foreheads brushed once, twice, finally pressed together. Jim's skin was hot, it burned with an electric buzz that jolted Spock's mental barriers and made his body tremble. "Spock," Jim breathed, and the sensation of warm air against his skin only stoked the raging fires. Spock glanced down, watched the tip of Jim's tongue flick out unconsciously and wet his...lips. He hesitated, suddenly panicking. What was he doing? This was wrong. He couldn't-shouldn't-

A hand clamped the back of his neck, fingers digging into his flesh. "Damn it, don't stop now," Jim growled, and pulled their mouths together. The kiss was hard and bruising and their teeth scraped together in a sweet burst of pain. Jim's lips were dry and parted, his tongue eagerly forcing its way into Spock's mouth and entangling with his own. Spock was caught off guard by the unexpected complexities of the human kiss, though he attempted valiantly to reciprocate the actions.

To his satisfaction, Jim uttered a deep groan at his efforts and hooked an arm around Spock's neck, deepening the kiss. His need-pure, undiluted,_ burning_-battered at Spock's fluctuating barriers, surging from every point of contact between their bodies, so thick that Spock could taste it on his lips, his tongue. He had to keep Jim out or he would _know_, know how much Spock wanted him and his mind would break because surely Jim could not want him back with the same intensity. He resolutely kept the barriers up, tried to ignore the tantalizing golden fire burning just barely out of reach and he could reach it if he tried but he _would not break Jim-_

His fingers fumbled at the base of Jim's shirt, seeking _more_. Smooth skin under his hands, muscles rolling and tensing and bunching as they sensed Spock's wandering touch. Jim tore his mouth away to take a deep, shuddering breath. "Spock, wait-" His feeble protest hitched into silence as Spock's mouth burned a possessive trail along his jawline, teeth grazing over the fluttering pulse in his neck. Jim tasted of salt and want and Spock could not get enough of it. He felt Jim's hands in his hair, tugging and pushing and the slight burn of discomfort only lent an edge to his desire.

He could hear his own breaths, heavy and irregular and _surely _he possessed more self-control than this. But if he did then that was _then _and this was here and now and Jim was rolling forward with his hips in a manner that should be forbidden and a fierce spike of desire was shuddering through their bodies. He tightened his grip on Jim's waist, felt the skin burn beneath his fingertips and a low, pained hiss of air against his neck as he bit down on Jim's collarbone, tongue flicking out to catch tantalizing drops of sweat. His fingers moved higher, brushed against the edge of-

He pulled back sharply from Jim's grip, though his mind keened at the loss and his body was suddenly much colder than its usual temperature. Jim slumped against the wall, panting, looking as lost and confused as Spock felt. "What the _hell_ did you stop for?" he demanded indignantly, face flushed and pupils dilated in a debauched way. Spock tugged his own shirt down with fumbling fingers, trying to smooth his expression but failing. "I-You are injured, Jim."

"What?" Jim glanced down at himself, at the bandages peeking beneath the edge of his pushed-up shirt. He pulled his shirt down self-consciously. "So what?"

"It...was not my intention to...I-I can not risk doing additional damage to your body."

"Are-are you _serious_? Look, man, you can't just-I _need_-" Jim cut himself off, looking remarkably embarrassed. "Just get back over here."

"That would be most..." Logical. Desirable."...unwise."

"Oh, come _on_-"

"I will not be able to hold back."

"I don't give a flying-"

"I do, Jim." Spock reached out tentatively, grasped Jim's wrist in a loose grip. Jim turned his hand and slid their palms together. The rough friction sent stars crackling behind Spock's eyes and he faltered slightly. "J-Jim."

Jim stepped closer, close enough for Spock to wrap an arm around him, and spoke softly into a pointed ear, "Please."

"I-We can not." He could. He could not.

"We _can_."

"Dr. McCoy-"

"Are you seriously bringing Bones up right now?" A soft shivery laugh gusted across his ear and Spock nearly lost all restraint on the spot. He took a deep breath to steel himself, struggling to ignore Jim's scent, so close and smothering and enthralling, and stepped away. Jim released his hand and they stood before each other, cold and confused. "Look," Jim began, reaching out again.

"I propose that we discuss this at a later time, Jim," Spock said firmly, though not without regret. He still throbbed for him, burned for him, and he was stoutly refusing to confirm the physical evidence of Jim's own desire with his own eyes. "Preferably after the mission."

"You can't leave me hanging like that, man. I _can't_-look, this may be easy for you-"

"I assure you, Jim," Spock said wearily, "this is by no means easy for me. Your effect on me is most...illogical. It touches me in ways that should be wrong, but I can not think of it as anything but right."

"Then just-"

"Please, Jim. Not now."

Jim's hand dropped to his side and Spock tried not to let his disappointment show. He raised a shaking hand to his own head, smoothed the ruffled strands of hair absently, and tugged his shirt straight. Jim busied himself with repairing his own rumpled appearance, his silence occasionally broken by a dark grumble. It was just his injured pride, Spock knew. He himself was not, no matter what Jim might think, immune to desire. Just standing here together, so soon after they had met in such a hot clash of wills and teeth and flesh, was almost more than he could bear.

But he could bear it, and he would, because what they had between them was more important than Spock's own wants. He felt a certain pride in that, that they could still stand as captain and First Officer and yet be so much more. Jim met his measuring gaze, chin jutting in automatic defiance. "What, you worried I'm going to jump you or something?"

"I was wondering," Spock said evenly, "if you are fully aware of our circumstances. Carol Marcus will awaken at any moment and there is still a mission at hand here."

"Yeah." Jim ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "Yeah, I know." He grunted with displeasure. "But still. You have the worst timing in the world."

Spock lowered his eyes, chastised. "My...apologies, Jim. I..." He searched for a proper explanation fruitlessly and gave a small, one-shouldered shrug in helplessness. "It will not happen again."

A hand unexpectedly wrapped around his elbow, giving a tight squeeze that was not of so much of reassurance as it was a promise. "We _will_ talk about this," Jim said quietly, his face solemn and, for once, completely serious. Spock's willpower faltered slightly before he forced it back under rigid control.

"Yes, Captain," he said, because in the end, that was all he could have ever said.

**A/N: Um.**

…**.sweats nervously. WELL THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY. AT LEAST THEY FINALLY FRIGGING KISSED. UGH I'm so disappointed in myself. That last scene was supposed to be like somewhere in the middle of the next chapter after Carol woke up and crap happens and UGHHHHHHH. So I AM SO SORRY if it seemed out of flow and weird and out of place because it was. I just really really really really wanted that scene to happen and I had it prewritten and everything and-rolls on floor in shame-I am so sorry.**

**But you know you liked it.**

**REVIEWS? MAYBE? MAKE AN AUTHOR HAPPY? Happy author=happy Spirk times, just sayin'.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: soooooo this is a shorter chapter, but I wanted to get at least something up before I depart on a five day vacation in Virginia yo and wifi will not be guaranteed there so this is my cushion. As a result, the writing in this is a bit lighter than my usual work, but maybe some people prefer it this way, I don't know. It's certainly faster to chug out. i actually wanted to finish this story before i left but more and more unplanned stuff kept happening so e chapters are taking a bit longer than expected to plan out. the actual writing part is really fast in comparison. Hopefully i can get another one up tomorrow before i leave tomorrow night! Thanks for everything, guys, I don't think you know how much you make my day when you favorite or review or follow :)**

**But the sounds I make when I check my email are kind of like cjfjejsjgjjjhdhehsNFJRJDJVHEHHFHDHEHnfnrjfjfjfjd.**

Chapter Five

It wasn't often that Jim was at a loss for words, but walking down the corridor beside Spock, he found that he simply did not know the words that could fully describe the half-Vulcan.

He might have caught glimpses of his attraction to his First Officer before the Observation Deck Incident, but that kiss had completely blown away all delusions and inhibitions and left only the staggering truth.

Spock was _beautiful_. The way he moved, all silence and grace-Jim wouldn't mind seeing that flexibility in bed-but even more than that, Jim remembered all too well the raw strength behind the flowing grace, the pure power veiled behind a cool shield of control. He could still feel the ghostly touch of fingertips pressing into his waist, trailing roughly over his stomach and hips, hear that slightly hoarse voice whispering-

"Jim." Inquisitive eyes locked on his own. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Jim answered automatically, mentally pedalling backwards. They had been headed to the medbay after receiving a call from Bones. Carol Marcus had woken. Right. The mission. The twenty-three scientists stranded on Leonis II. He could think about this weird attraction later. He gestured. "Shouldn't we...?"

Spock gave him one last hard stare, then continued down the corridor. Jim followed, walking slightly behind him. The blue shirt was slightly stretched across Spock's shoulders and, occasionally, he could make out his muscles moving under the fabric. His skin had been cooler than Jim had expected, but had burned almost painfully under his fingertips in a way that Jim suspected was not completely physical. Vulcans _were_ touch telepaths, after all, and maybe it worked both ways. He hadn't exactly been concentrating the first time Spock had touched him. He shook his head in disbelief, unable to keep himself from wondering, _How the _hell _did we get from that to _this_?_ Surely going from strangling to making out against a wall was a little extreme, even for him.

"You're thinking something." The statement was almost accusing. Jim looked up, startled, but Spock had not turned to look at him. He wondered briefly how he had known...then dismissed it as more Vulcan hoodoo.

"Yeah. About the...about the first time you touched me. A right hook, wasn't it?" Jim tried to laugh, but it came out strangled and awkward and died quickly.

Spock's shoulders tensed. _Damn it, stop looking at his-_ "I apologize for that incident, Jim. It...I was not completely rational at the time." There was genuine regret in his voice.

"I probably deserved it, if it makes you feel better."

"It does not."

They had reached the medbay, but neither made a move to enter. "I'm sorry it had to come to that," Jim said.

Spock blinked, apparently caught off guard by the unexpected reply. "I am not aware of this human custom of reciprocating apologies."

"It's not a custom," Jim hastily amended. "I meant it. As how it is. I mean-I...never mind." He snorted in exasperation at his own inability to speak coherently and led the way into the medbay.

Bones looked up sharply, "Well, _there_ you are. Took the scenic route, did you?" His fingers twitched towards the tricorder at his belt-most likely a conditioned response whenever Jim appeared in the medbay.

Jim ignored the barb, turning instead to Carol Marcus. She sat upright in her biobed, the piles of pillows behind her giving her a small and vulnerable look. Her hair had been brushed into a neat bob, and the bruises on her face and arms seemed slightly less pronounced. The hospital gown drowned her in white. Alert blue eyes watched Jim and Spock approach the bed.

"A moment, Bones?" Jim asked quietly. The doctor glanced at him shrewdly, his intuitive gaze flitting between Jim and Spock, standing silently at the foot of the bed, and grunted in acknowledgment. "I'll be in my office."

"I'm Captain Kirk. Spock, my First Officer," Jim announced, as soon as the doors had closed behind Bones. "And you must be Ms. Marcus? Or, is it Wallace?"

Carol's eyes narrowed to wary slits, glancing quickly from Jim to Spock, then back to Jim. "Does it matter?"

Jim smiled slightly. "Not really. Not to me. However, your father seems to think that it matters a great deal."

Her shoulders slumped noticeably. "Oh. Well for once I'm _glad_ he's a meddling fart." Jim couldn't suppress a chuckle at the girl's sheer cheek. He _liked_ her. Behind him, Spock stiffened, but Jim did not notice. Her eyes suddenly grew wide and she lunged forward, gripping Jim's wrist with surprising strength. "The others! Did any of them make it?"

Jim blinked, startled. "Others?"

"The other researchers," she clarified impatiently. "Were there any others after me?"

"No, you were the only one." Jim leaned forward intently. "Carol, what happened down there?"

She swallowed. "We...we landed on Leonis two months ago. We were the second to arrive. When we landed, we were supposed to regroup with the first vessel, but they didn't respond to our transmissions. When-when we finally found them, they were...they were all..."

"They were all what?" Jim asked gently, though he thought he knew what had happened to the first twelve researchers.

"They were all dead," Carol whispered, her eyes wide with horror. "All-all of them shot. With phasers. The vessel was torn apart, missing engines, warp drives. We rushed back to our own vessel, but they were already there."

"They?" Spock asked sharply. Jim frowned slightly at him. There was no need to be so rough with the girl, especially when she was in this state. Spock either did not notice his disapproval or did not care.

"Smugglers. They never said but they had to be."

"Humans?" Jim asked.

Carol nodded, a fast, short jerk of the head. "Forty of them, at least. Ten were at our vessels, heavily armed. They would have killed us too, but I-"

"You told them who you were," Jim realized.

"Yes. I thought that they would hesitate at shooting the daughter of a Federation admiral, and they did. But the others...they-they shot three, Hans, Lettie, and Sam, before I stopped them. I told them my father would pay the ransom for me and the other twenty."

"Brave of you," Jim commented, truly impressed at this point. Spock seemed to have turned into an ice statue beside him. After this, he would have to ask him what had turned him into Frosty the Vulcan Snowman.

She offered a quick, tired smile. "Just trying to survive. We all were. They took us back to their base. An underground bunker in the forest. They had loads of stuff, ship parts mostly. I saw some warp drives and transport technology. The leader...his name is Foley, I think. Big guy, bald. Nasty teeth. We were separated into three groups. They put us in these shipping containers." She shuddered. "They were dark. And wet. We were fed once a day and sometimes they took us out on by one and walked us around the place. It was my turn one day and I saw...I saw a transport platform, not in bad shape."

Jim nodded, beginning to see now. "You escaped. Beamed yourself up."

"The smugglers had a transmitter. We could hear your messages through the walls. When they opened up to feed us, my group made a run for it. We scattered, hoping that it would cause a distraction. We were lucky there were only half of them awake. I made it to the transporter, typed in the codes, and beamed myself up. I hoped that someone else would make it after me." Her shoulders shook in a silent sob. "But-but no one did. Oh God, what if they were killed? What if-"

"Carol." Jim reached out with his free hand-she still maintained a tight grip on his other wrist-and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "You did what you could. You did the right thing. We can help the others now, thanks to you. You did good."

She nodded, smiling through unshed tears. "Thank you. Thank you so much. Please, you have to be careful. They'll know you're up here now."

"We will," Jim said grimly. Smugglers...this had all escalated rather quickly. "Get some rest, Carol. We'll take care of everything." He made to stand.

"Release the captain, Ms. Marcus," Spock suddenly said. Jim stared at him. He sounded almost...threatening. Something was definitely wrong with him.

"Oh!" Carol blinked, startled, and let go of Jim's wrist. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"It's not your fault,"Jim reassured her, directing a glare at his First. Surely Spock knew better than to act this way. This behavior was so far from his usual range of attitudes that it was slightly unnerving Jim. "We'll be on our way now." He gestured sharply at Spock, who hesitated a split second before marching out. Jim followed close behind, rounding on his First Officer before the doors hissed completely shut.

"What the _hell_ was that back there?" he demanded. "What were you trying to pull with that bad cop act?"

Spock stared stiffly at a point just over Jim's shoulder. "I do not know what you are referring to, Captain."

"_There_. Right there. You're doing that I'm-pissed-off-so-I'm-going-to-call-you-Captain thing!" Jim snapped. "So what's got your panties in a massive Gordian knot?"

Spock did not reply. Jim was surprised by this. Spock _always_ replied. He wasn't the type to sulk or ignore. If he didn't know better, Jim would say that he was acting like...

"You're _jealous_," Jim realized, gawking at Spock ridiculously.

"I am feeling no such emotion," Spock snapped. The tips of his ears had flushed a faint green. "Vulcans do not feel jealousy."

"No, you're totally jealous." Jim was completely awed at this revelation. Spock, however, did not seem to share his joys in unveiling the mysteries of life and managed to scowl magnificently without moving a muscle. Some day, Jim would get him to show him how he did that.

"I," Spock said tightly, "am not jealous."

"Spock, really, this is very flattering." Jim couldn't help but tease him. A stronger man might have been able to pass up this golden opportunity, but Jim had never shown much fortitude before a temptation of this quality.

Spock _growled_. Jim blinked at the unexpected sound, and suddenly Spock was in his face, his lips centimeters from Jim's cheek. "I. Am not. Jealous." Those soft words carried a diamond-hard edge, and Jim could not stop the shiver from trailing down his spine and causing his toes to curl. "Okay," he managed to say, lips barely stirring.

Spock held his position for a moment longer, his breath tingling against Jim's skin, then stepped back and was his old, reserved self once more. "If you will excuse me, Captain, I must make my own preparations for the rescue."

"Rescue," Jim echoed faintly, his blood roaring in his ears. "Right." That's right. He had to...had to do something...

Spock inclined his head and, for a moment, Jim stared at the tips of his still green ears, and then he was gone.

Jim stood there, in the middle of the corridor, utterly dumbfounded. Apparently, this was a lot more serious that he had thought.

…

Spock strode down the corridor, uncertain of what expression he wore on his face, but distinctly grateful that it seemed to repel scurrying yeomen from his path. There were still more than four hours before the members of the landing party, sans the scientists in favor of the change in objectives, regrouped in the transport room. He needed to rest. He had steadily become more and more aware of this fact over the past few hours, but the fact that he could not specify the exact amount of time spoke volumes of his true levels of exhaustion.

Surely this was the cause of his frequent slips of control, his weakening barriers in the face of dark antagonism towards the unfortunate Carol Marcus. He was well aware of her plight and what she had suffered, and yet he had treated her with human levels of rudeness and disrespect. He stopped outside his quarters, resisting the human urge to bash a fist against the wall panels. The blow would most likely cause severe damage to the panelling, he told him firmly, and alert Jim to his weakening grip on control. He could not-_would_ not let him know. Seeing fear in Jim's eyes, disgust and wariness...he would not be able to bear it.

He unlocked his doors with trembling fingers, stumbled across the room in a swaying lurch, and forced himself to recline loosely upon his bed, resisting the urge to curl up tightly as Jim had done before. The thought suddenly struck him, as he lay there with closed eyes and hands folded across his stomach, that Jim had lain in this exact spot.

The bed suddenly seemed a lot warmer. Spock shifted his weight, settling deeper into the mattress and attempting to expel all thought of such things from his mind. However, his mind was a slippery and disobedient thing in his sleep-deprived state. It replayed hot, scorching fingers against the back of his neck, a thumb digging almost painfully behind his ear. Harsh breaths against his neck, the taste of salt on his tongue. The taste of Jim...hard muscles under smooth, burning skin. Spock wanted to explore that body with his hands, his tongue, mapping out the unfamiliar scenery and marking it as _his_, and his alone. He had not been jealous of Carol Marcus, he told himself. There was no logic in feeling jealousy, for Jim was already his. He just didn't know it yet.

She could not own Jim, in any case. Could those small hands capture all of his passion, his fire, his strength? That soft body withstand his bruising grip and fierce kisses and the full intensity of his need? No. There was no woman in all the worlds that could tame Jim Kirk.

_I could_, whispered the small, sly voice that had led him to the madness in the Observation Deck in the first place. _I am strong enough._

And before he could dispel this thought, this illogical, ridiculous thought, he was asleep.

…

They were ready. Fifteen men stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the cramped transport room, loaded with supplies and weapons. Bones had ordered Chapel to stay behind and added four more security officers to fill the empty slots left by the nurse and the three scientists.

Sulu had elected to stay in the party, despite the alarming new circumstances of the mission. "We did good together on that drill," he had pointed out, when Jim had asked. "I'll be watching your back, Captain." Jim had refrained from warning him about the Vulcan guard dog he had already acquired and left the matter alone, hoping that Spock had remembered how to play nice with others.

The first group to beam down consisted of five security officers. The next group would be the remaining security and Sulu, and the third Jim, Spock, Bones, and the two engineers.

As the first group fizzled out of sight, Jim snuck a sidelong glance at Spock. His First Officer stood beside him, wearing a close-fitting black jacket over his black undershirt. The group had opted to change into civilian garb, wary that the smugglers might panic at the sight of Federation officials and make an escape. Jim had never seen Spock in anything other than his uniform, but he had to admit that he looked _good_. Getting Spock to try on jeans was definitely next on his to-do list...

The group before him shuffled forward to pile onto the transporter and Jim's group stepped forward to fill in the gap. "Captain," a voice whispered at his shoulder, and he turned in time to see Scotty's knowing wink as something small and cool was pressed into his hand. His fingers closed around the object automatically, and he returned Scotty's grin as the engineer scurried back to his post at the console.

Spock had not noticed this exchange. Jim shoved his hand in his pocket nonchalantly and shifted the strap of the satchel on his shoulder. "Bones, you all right there?" he called out casually. The doctor was practically sweating bullets, his knuckles white in the death grip he had on his medicine bag. "Don't like transporters," he muttered, a wild look in his eyes. Jim recognized the expression from the first time they met. "Too many things could go wrong."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Calm down."

"Calm _down_, he says. Calm-do you _know_ what your body goes through in there?!"

"Bones, really-"

"Next," Scotty drawled, with almost malevolent glee. Jim all but wrestled Bones onto the transporter. "Look," he huffed, "if it's this hard for you, maybe you should stay."

"Not in a million years. Without me, you'd bleed out from a paper cut," Bones snarled. He turned to the young engineer beside him-Kendall, Jim thought-and demanded, "What do you think?"

"I'd prefer to not take sides, sir," the young man answered nervously.

"Transporter's ready, Captain."

"Energize," Jim ordered, and when he next blinked, they were standing in the violet fields of Leonis II.

His first thought was that the planet wasn't much different from Earth, except for the...purple. Tall grass of a distinctly lavender hue swayed at his waist, feather-soft against his hands. The air was dry and cool, a sharp breeze rippling the grass in rustling waves. "Captain!" Sulu was making his way towards them through the grass, waving an arm over his head. The security officers straggled behind him, phasers already out and at the ready.

As Sulu approached, Jim saw that he held a navigator in his hand. "The coordinates Scotty pulled from the girl's transport," the pilot explained, slightly breathless from the exertion. The grass seemed to pull slightly at the fabric of their clothing, Jim noticed, so that walking became more of a laborious wade. "The bunker should be a kilometer in that direction." Jim followed his arm, turning and gazing warily at the thick forest behind them.

The trees were tall, taller than any tree Jim had ever seen, more like columns than actual trees. The only branches he could see were clustered around the top of the trunks, sprouting fluffy purple fronds like massive, surreal pompoms. The bark of the trees was an odd silvery-gray that gleamed almost metallically in the sunlight. Jim tilted his face up, squinted at the pink sky. "This place," he decided out loud, "is weird."

Spock, who had been surprisingly silent until that point, now spoke, "Captain, I propose that we split into two groups: one offensive unit to capture the smugglers and one to safely escort the hostages back to the _Enterprise_."

"I vote Team Safety," Bones grumbled. "I'm a doctor, not Superman."

"Well, that's one." Jim looked around at their little group, gauging the usefulness of each one. "You two. Kendall and Garrett." He pointed at the engineers. "You're with Dr. McCoy. You think you can get into the shipping containers?"

"Aye, Captain."

"Good. You three, with them." He motioned at three of the security officers, who shuffled obediently to one side. "And Mr. Spock. You make sure they get out all right."

Spock stiffened. "Captain, I believe this would put you on the offensive force."

Jim frowned. "Yes, Mr. Spock. I believe that would."

"May I have a word with you, Captain? In private."

Jim stared at him incredulously. "This is hardly the time, Spock." Spock merely set his jaw and gave him a resolute stare. Jim glanced at the rest of the group helplessly; they were sorting themselves into their respective units, divvying out weapons and supplies to the according groups. "A quick one," he allowed, and led the way to a patch of field not far from the main body of the party.

Spock didn't exactly ease into the subject. He stepped right up into Jim's face-again-and used all the power of his steely Vulcan eyes to project his disapproval. "This is not acceptable, Jim."

"Look," Jim said, finally starting to lose patience with the Spock-knows-better-than-Jim act. "I can take care of myself."

Spock's eyes glittered, like polished glass. "Unless you see someone in danger. Then, it becomes apparent that you can not take care of yourself at all."

"Are we really going to do this right now? Right here?"

"You said before that you did not derive pleasure from self-injury. How, then, do you always end up-"

"It's not li-"

"-grievously injured, by no fault other than-"

Their argument had dropped into a heated hissing battle, neither intent on backing down any time soon.

"_Look_, Spock, you can't treat me like-"

"Like an infantile, reckless-"

"I'm not-"

"You do not care!"

"_I care!_" Jim snapped. "I _care_, Spock, more than you or anyone else seems to think!"

Spock's mouth snapped shut and he considered Jim for a long moment. "Explain."

Jim glared at him, breathing deeply through his nose. He did not want to have this conversation now, and definitely not here with twenty scientists waiting to be rescued. But it was obvious that Spock wasn't going to let this go. "I care, because I don't want to lose anyone." And there, it was out. The confession that carried the weight of the sky, the world, the burden on his shoulders, the reason behind his smiles. "I can't-" his voice broke and he cleared his throat angrily before continuing, "I can't _lose_ anyone, Spock! Any of the crew, not Sulu, not Bones, not Yeoman McGee, not any of the engineers, and not _you_."

Spock had gone very still, his head tilted to one side.

"I...you're the closest thing...you _are_ my family. All of you. And I can't...I would break, Spock. If anyone dies out there, I would have _failed._ Don't you see? I would have to tell some mother out there, some son or father or sister that their loved one died because _I couldn't save them_." There was a dangerous prickling behind his eyes, but he refused to let the tears form. The words kept coming out, not caring that the timing was terrible or that they were on a purple planet or that Spock was still watching him with those eyes. "It's selfish of me, it's conceited, it's stupid, I know. I can't save everyone, I know that. But I can _try_, damn it. I can _try_. So don't tell me I don't care about myself. It's the only thing I do care about."

Seconds ticked by. The wind howled mournfully through the branchless forest, whispering through violet blades of grass. Spock reached out slowly, carefully, and took Jim's hand. Jim blinked at the contact and suddenly his eyes were very wet. "Spock..."

"I am sorry, Jim," Spock said evenly. His thumb brushed lightly over Jim's knuckles in a brief caress that sent lightning up the way through to Jim's shoulder. "I did not know."

"I didn't want you to," Jim mumbled, looking down at their intertwined fingers. They were standing in such a way that the group couldn't see their hands, and for that he was grateful. He wasn't ready for that yet, not quite. "You would have been disappointed."

A slight huff of air escaped the Vulcan, and Jim took it as Spock's form of an exasperated sigh. "I would never be disappointed in you, Jim. If anything, you never fail to cease exceeding my expectations." He had to crack a smile at the wryness in Spock's voice.

"Captain?" Sulu called, his voice small and tinny in the wind. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah! We'll be right over!" Jim shouted back. He glanced at Spock, suddenly feeling _shy,_ of all things. "We'll talk later."

A strong squeeze, a silent promise. Then Spock released his hand and, for a moment, Jim felt terribly cold. He shook his head to clear it and followed Spock back to their companions. _It's probably nothing._

**A/N: Kind of a cliffhanger, oopsssssssss I hate the darn things but there you go. Tis a necessary evil. I just wanted to get at least one more chapter up just in case I don't have time to wrap up the story before my mini vacation. But I will definitely finish it before I go on my huuuuge vacation, which is pretty much all of July. I know i would personally hate waiting that long so I WILL FINISH IT. FOR GLORY. Wifi will be iffy but I will certainly keep writing when I can. Ciao, mi amores. Reviews will, as always, be extremely appreciated and gushed over and flailed over and responded to ASAP.**

**edit: fixed some numbers. I forgot I killed off three of the scientists...oops. Also increased number of smugglers because I think just having ten is somewhat unlikely.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I swear I will never do this again, but this is a fragment of Chapter Six sobbbbb. I didn't want to leave the last chapter like that before I left so here's a slightly better place to leave off...maybe? It's not much, but hopefully this will get you guys through that slightly awkward last ending.**

**UPDATE WHEN I RETURN. **

**edit: I'M BACK. WITH THE FULL CHAPTER. SWEET BABY WIFI HOW I HAVE MISSED YOUR LIFE-SUSTAINING FLOW. I have never truly appreciated modern conveniences so much. In case you're wondering, I'm writing this all on Google Drive, so while it is convenient and I can pull it up on my iPad and stuff, it is not so convenient when lacking wifi.**

**If you see any errors anywhere, btw, shoot me a PM with the chapter, scene, and typo and I'll fix it up. I've only given these a brief glance before posting because I'm too impatient ahaaaa. I've been trying to catch them as I go along, so hopefully some have been fixed already.**

**Well, the story is starting to wind down a bit. Some action, some shooting...slight violence, so I suppose I'll throw up an M warning. Also, warning for feels towards the end. Just saying. :(**

**WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING there. That should suffice.**

Chapter Six

They progressed through the alien forest, the sound of their footsteps muffled by a strange silver moss underfoot. The light filtering through the canopy was a pale lavender, dappling the metallic trunks in dancing lights. The root system of the tall, stripped trees was shallow and sprawling, covering the ground in rolling waves and ripples. Dr. McCoy was the first to stumble over the uneven land, uttering an alarmed cry. Spock reached out and snagged the man's elbow before he could completely topple over, receiving a gruff mutter of gratitude in return for his assistance. He did not mind; it was the doctor's way.

His mind was on other matters, in any case. Running beneath his thoughts, a constant nagging reminder just below the surface of his mind, was anxiety. He was worried about Jim. Vulcans did not worry, as it was illogical to feel concern over events in which one could not anticipate nor affect. However, he had already contradicted enough of his people's ways to understand that there were a great deal of things that Vulcans were not supposed to do, but somehow managed to accomplish anyway. He supposed this could be due to his mother's human bloodlines, but dismissed that as nonsensical. Emotions could not be transferred through blood, after all.

Jim walked beside Sulu, who led the group, oblivious to the duress of his First Officer. He was gesturing as he spoke, most likely outlining his plan for infiltration. Garrett, the elder of the two engineers, had laid out schematics constructed from Carol Marcus's description, collected in a second interview prior to their departure, and the team had pored over the plans, making suggestions and discarding ideas until a skeleton plan, which Jim claimed would flesh itself out when the time came, had formed. Personally, Spock was not pleased by the lack of detailing in the crude strategy, but had been forced to comply by a sheer lack of time, resources, and alternatives.

Spock reached out automatically, catching McCoy once more as the doctor slipped and began to fall. "_Damn _it," the older man growled, struggling to regain his balance. "I'll never leave the ship again!"

Spock did not reply, his mind still occupied. McCoy gave him a long look, following the direction of the Vulcan's gaze towards the front of the group. He sighed heavily. "You shouldn't worry over him too much, you know." Spock blinked, looking quickly at the doctor. Had his face betrayed his thoughts?

"Yeah, I know I should be the last one to say that, seeing how I gripe and throw fits whenever he gets hurt," McCoy continued, "but Jim's his own man, Spock. He knows what he's doing." He paused. "Well, most of the time."

Spock did not know what to say. He was becoming swiftly acquainted with the fact that he could not prevent Jim from doing what he wanted. There was too much of him to keep from the world. _I was foolish to think that I could be the one_. But even if he knew he could not protect Jim, as the captain himself had said, he could _try_. It was the least he could do, after all. "I will attempt to...not worry, then, doctor."

The forest was thinning slightly, a large clearing in sight fifty meters ahead. The group drew to a halt and gathered together, watching as Sulu tweaked with the whirring navigator. "It's just up ahead," the pilot said, voice low. "The entrance should be set into the ground. A hatch of some kind."

Jim was chewing his lip, an intent glint in his eyes. Spock recognized the look; it had been there when he had first stormed onto the bridge, demanding to be heard and acknowledged. It had been there when he had convinced Spock to go through with a plan that had a less than 4.3% chance of success. And it was here now, as a meager team of fifteen prepared to subdue and capture no less than forty smugglers in their own territory, in addition to the rescue of twenty scientific researchers, most of whom had probably never held a weapon of any sort in their lives.

If nothing else, however, Jim Kirk had plenty of experience in the unlikely, impossible, and improbable. "Right," he was saying now, gazing at the clearing without truly seeing it. "Right. Here's what we're going to do..."

…

Hank was new at this. He had started out his relatively short life with reasonable promise. Average-looking, but not too bad, either, smart enough to get by in school. He wasn't altogether sure, really, how he had ended up on this planet-Leo something. All he knew was that it was the ugliest color he had ever seen.

Starfleet had rejected his application, he recalled, with a hot flush of mortification. His best friend Tony from school had made it, was probably a lieutenant somewhere. And then there was Hank. With his shitty luck, Tony would be the one to bring him in if the operation ever busted.

Not that it would, of course. Hank yawned widely. He was on lookout now, with an older man. Russell, he thought. Or Randy. No, it was Russell, he was sure. With two Ls. They sat beneath the surface hatch with rifles tucked under their arms, just in case an emergency that would never happen occurred. It was stupid, really, Hank thought. There was nobody anywhere near that could stumble on the bunker. Only the traders knew, and they wouldn't bring any trouble to the door. Those scientists had, though. Bad luck, for them. Of all the places they could have landed their stupid research ships, they had to land here, and look what happened to them. Fate must have had it in for them, is all. Hank yawned again and Russell looked over, irritated. "Stop that, noob," he growled. "That shit's contagious, you k-"

Something rattled against the hatch. The two men looked up, startled. The rattling sound happened again, like something had bounced across the hatch. "The hell was that?" Hank demanded in a hushed tone, unnerved.

Russell grunted. "Branch or something. It gets windy up top." But he didn't sound so sure.

Another skittering sound. Hank squeezed his rifle, scared to hell but unwilling to admit it. "That ain't no branch!" he insisted, his voice shriller than he would have liked.

"Then get your ass up and go see what it is!"

"You go."

"The hell-why should I go? You're the one with all the damn questions. I told you it was a branch, didn't I?"

"That wasn't no branch."

"Then what is it, huh? Skeletons? It's skeletons, that what you're saying?"

Hank blinked. "Well, no, I didn't think it was skeletons."

"Then go look for yourself, smartass!" Russell gestured with the butt of his rifle. Hank stood reluctantly, knowing this conversation would only keep going if he stayed, and clambered up the ladder, his rifle strung across his shoulders. "You watch out in case it _is_ skeletons," he called down, suddenly ridiculously worried. He hadn't seen any animals in the area, but maybe they only came out sometimes. Hell, with his luck, it'd be a bear. A big ole bear that could rip his head off and-

He unlocked the hatch with shaking fingers and lifted the hatch slowly, arms straining under the weight if the metal slab. He opened it just a crack, so he could look out and slam it shut if he needed to.

He didn't see anything. No skeletons. No bear. But there wasn't a branch, either.

"Don't see anything," he told Russell, raising the hatch higher and stepping right up onto the top rung of the ladder to get a better look around. The clearing was empty, the skinny trees swaying a little near the top. Hank shrugged, and stepped onto the ground, letting the hatch lean open. "Hank, you get back down here," Russell called. Hank pretended that he hadn't heard. The air was good here, better than it was underground, and he hasn't been out since the day that blondie scientist disappeared. They hadn't ever found her, though they had had to shoot two more of the researchers before the others were rounded back up into their containers. Pity. She was the prettiest one-

A branch snapped and Hank whirled around, rifle swinging wildly for the source of the sound. "Russell," he breathed, heart suddenly in his throat and strangling his voice. "Russell, get up here."

"Huh? What's that you said?"

"Russell," Hank squeaked, backing away on shaking legs.

A hand tapped his shoulder and he turned around. He caught a glimpse of pale skin and-pointy _ears_?-then there was white pain flaring between his neck and shoulder and he was out before his rifle struck the ground.

Russell squinted up at the circle of sky. "Hank!"

There was no reply. Damned kid, running around like a headless chicken. Russell grumbled under his breath as he pulled himself up the ladder. He poked his head up out of the hatch. Opened his mouth to squawk out, "HAN-GARK!"

He was dragged out by the collar of his shirt and there was Hank, hogtied on the ground, but where was his rif-something smashed into the back of his head and he hit the ground.

…

Jim, panting slightly, lowered the rifle. It'd been a while since he'd had to bash someone like that. "There."

"Good hit, sir," Sulu praised, bending down to cuff the second smuggler.

Spock merely raised an eyebrow...smugly. Jim was learning to read his little signals, the subtle movements of his face that weren't exactly expressions. Jim jutted his chin out defensively. "What? Not all of us are super-Vulcans, okay?"

They left the smugglers tied to a tree and descended through the hatch, Jim now dragging along one of the rifles and Bones clutching tightly to the other, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the arrangement. Jim had talked him into taking it, saying that if he wouldn't shoot anyone, he could at least whack them over the head with it.

The ladder ended in a circular room, with a lift on one side and two doors on the other. Jim made for the nearest door, waving one of the key cards he'd lifted from the two smugglers. The door beeped and slid open, revealing a narrow, grayish-white corridor. The other door opened to a similar corridor. Garrett pulled out his schematics again, scanning the makeshift map frantically. "We've gotta go down, sir, that's all I can tell you. The Wallace girl said they were on the third level, but she said their heads were bagged until the bottom floor."

Jim chewed a fingernail absently. This wasn't going to be good, either way. He looked at the door on the left, then at the door on the right. "Right," he murmured. "We'll have to split up."

He waited for an objection from a certain overprotective Vulcan, but Spock blinked once and said nothing. "Mr. Spock, take your team down the left corridor. Try to avoid any confrontations if you can: go for stealth. The hostages are your top priority. My team, with me down the right. Sulu, you take point, I'll cover our asses." He glanced at Spock. That should be satisfying, right? Spock was gazing at him intently, eyebrows lowered over his dark eyes. Why wasn't he saying anything?

Jim forced himself to look away, tossing the spare key card to Spock. "Let's go."

…

Spock led his team down the corridor at a brisk trot, phaser armed and set to stun. McCoy was second, his heavy medicine bag bouncing as he struggled to not gasp for air. Spock admired the man, in a grudging sort of way. He had his own kind of strength, the strength to protect and heal, and Spock sometimes wished that he could claim the same for himself. But now, he was a hunter, silent and strong and filled with dark purpose. He would not seek out altercations, but neither would he shy from one. Every smuggler he now saw as a potential threat, a danger that could not be left wandering. With Jim out of his sight, anything could happen.

He would simply not let anything happen.

The first smuggler they came across had enough time to emit a strangled sound of surprise before Spock tagged him in the chest with his phaser. "Leave him," he barked, when one of the engineers bent to roll over and cuff the man. "He is not our problem." The sooner they retrieved the hostages, the sooner he could find Jim.

The next two hostiles did not go down quite as easily as the first. One managed to loose a shot with a phaser certainly not set to a nonlethal level. Fortunately, it missed the entire group, leaving a blackened scorch mark against the concrete wall inches from McCoy's head. The doctor loosed a half-shriek of alarm and clubbed the unfortunate smuggler around the head with his commandeered rifle.

"Well done, doctor," Spock complimented, wrestling the other smuggler to his knees and neatly administering a pinch to the neck. "An excellent swing."

"Damn right." McCoy hefted the rifle onto his shoulder, looking distinctly pleased with himself.

Garrett kept up a running commentary as they went, his schematics all but plastered to his face. "Left," he would gasp occasionally, or, "Down these steps. No, not all the way, turn right at the landing."

To Spock's unease, they did not encounter any more of the smugglers. By his count, there should be well over thirty left, yet their journey down had not consisted of more than two altercations. Therefore, they must have been alerted to the presence of Jim's offensive force and had siphoned off to wherever the confrontation was taking place. He refrained from using his communicator to try and contact Jim, as the latter would most likely find it inconvenient to answer in whatever his current circumstances were. Lack of information was causing an agony of indecision in the pit of his stomach.

They finally reached what seemed to be the last flight of stairs, their footfalls ringing up the narrow shaft and shaking the precarious steel steps. Spock motioned for silence at the bottom, back pressed against the closed doors. There was a round window by his head and he inched to the side, his right eye peering through the glass.

They had indeed reached the third level. From what he could tell by his constricted view, they were in the corner of a large storage level, with shelves and cases of contraband piled nearly to the high ceiling. The towering stacks formed aisles and corners, similar to a labyrinth. It would not be easy to locate the shipping containers, assuming they were even all in the same place. Spock resisted the urge to sigh in frustration and looked away from the window, resting his head against the door as he thought.

"We will have to split up," he reluctantly concluded.

"No offense," said McCoy, clearly intending the opposite, "but that is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. It's bad enough that we had to split from the main group. Once more would be suicide."

"I agree, Commander," said one of the security officers. "There's only seven of us and a whole lot of them."

"It is not an ideal situation," Spock admitted, "but there are three shipping containers to locate in a short amount of time. We do not know how many smugglers remain, nor the number of hostages still alive. In any other case, I would never suggest dividing our force, but a smaller group can move faster, quieter." He held up his communicator. "One member of the group will remain in contact with the other at all times and sound the alert when the hostages are located."

McCoy reluctantly nodded. "All right. I'll take Big and Heavy here." He indicated two of the security. "And, what the hell, you. Boy Scout." He gestured at the younger of the two engineers.

Spock nodded and keyed open the doors. "You watch yourself, Spock," McCoy said quietly as he passed. "Jim's not the only one I worry about." His normally aggrieved expression now carried a serious edge. Spock could suddenly see how he and the captain had become such close friends. To his surprise, he felt no twist of sour emotion at the thought, merely a resigned acceptance. "I will do my best, doctor."

McCoy snorted, in a derisive manner not similar to Jim, and departed.

Spock took his two remaining men and jogged off in the opposite direction. He heard sounds of conflict as soon as he stepped foot into the warehouse. Muffled shouts and firing phasers, accompanied by distant crashes and heavy thumps. Jim's force must have reached the level. He forced himself to remain intent on the task at hand: searching for the hostages. He had to control his pace, lest he leave the humans with him behind. They were moving too slow, something was happening out there, he needed to be there.

He was relieved when his communicator finally went off, McCoy's voice crackling, "Spock, we've got them! Sending the coordinates now-"

Spock tossed his communicator to Garrett. "Find Dr. McCoy and assist with aiding the hostages."

The engineer fumbled the communicator, startled, and cupped it in both his hands uncertainly. "Sir? Where will you be?"

"I will be with the captain." He took off, barely registering a faint, "Aye, sir." The shelves blurred as he finally broke into his true speed, his heart pumping furiously in his ears. Jim. He had to find him, had to make sure.

…

It was mayhem. The smugglers had been waiting for them; someone above must have managed to trigger an alarm before Jim's team took them out. Jim was covered in sweat and grime, his shirt ripped in at least five places from phaser grazes. He was sure the skin beneath was badly burned and was hurting a bitch, but his blood was up and boiling and now it was _war._

He was crouching behind a steel crate, trying to catch his breath. He could see Sulu taking cover behind a shelf, a cut across his cheek oozing blood down his face. He caught the pilot's eye and signaled that he was heading over.

Sulu shouted an okay that Jim barely made out over the sounds of battle. He took a deep breath and ran over, bent low to avoid the flying beams. He rolled to a stop next to Sulu, adrenaline coursing through his veins. "A hell of a plan, Captain," Sulu muttered, firing through a gap in the shelf and neatly taking out one of the smugglers.

"Well, it's working so far," Jim pointed out. Half the smugglers were stunned already, slumped all over the floor. He counted maybe ten still left, but it was difficult to tell in this chaotic environment. He hoped that Spock and Bones had managed to get the hostages out by now, while his force was distracting the smugglers. He glanced up at the tall racks around them. "I'll try to get up top, take some of them out from above."

Sulu grunted a half-answer, firing again, and Jim left him, running for one of the shelves that he thought he may be able to clim-

A searing pain pierced his thigh, sending him stumbling and finally skidding on his side. The floor was cold and sticky against his cheek. His vision was swimming, spots of black drifting and threatening to overwhelm him completely. Jim shook his head groggily, clearing some of the spots, and managed to push his head and chest off the floor. His leg looked bad. Real bad, if the amount of blood gushing out of it was any indication.

He felt a rising tide of derision bubbling within him, threatening to spill out in a wave of unhealthy giggles. This...this wasn't happening. He had to-he had to do something. Get somewhere.

"...Jim..."

Was that his name? He was dizzy, couldn't tell, couldn't see. His hands were moving on their own, clamping down on the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. So much red...staining his hands, pooling on the floor. It trickled through his fingers, his own heartbeat betraying his efforts. He gritted his teeth, tore a strip from his fraying and charred shirt, pressed it again his thigh as best as he could.

"...Jim!"

Stop shouting. He had to stop the bleeding. The blood made his fingers slippery, soaking the rag in seconds. Pain, dull and throbbing, radiated up through his hip, pulsing down his numb leg. So much blood...

"Jim!"

Spock?

He looked up dizzily. A pale blur of a face in the distance, running towards him. Phasers flashed through the air, running figures black in the flickering light. Spock. Spock was coming for him. Sheer relief nearly floored him again.

And then he saw it. The figure behind Spock, taking cold, detached aim with an armed phaser. The world snapped into sharp and blinding clarity. The air was ice running through his veins, every breath suddenly heavy and painful. "_No!_" he shouted, his throat tearing in fear. Spock faltered, half-turning to see-

It happened in a moment, only seconds, yet it seemed to take an eternity. He saw Spock stumble, his eyes widening. He was close enough for Jim to see the spray of green erupt from his chest, every emerald droplet sparkling in the lighting. He could hear his own voice dimly through the thudding of his heartbeat, saying words, calling out...there was pain, terrible, stabbing pain in his heart, his soul. His leg was nothing next to this agony.

Spock fell to his knees, face twisted in almost comic disbelief. _Isn't this ironic?_

"No, no, Spock, _don't_-"

His eyes met Jim's for a long moment before they fluttered shut and he slumped forward on the floor. Time rushed forward, filling the air with screams and curses and noise. All he could see was Spock, lying there in a growing puddle of green blood.

Jim strained forward, dragging himself forward. A body careened into him, stumbled over his twisted leg. Pain flared for a moment, sharp and ugly, and he gritted his teeth and kept going. "Spock," he gasped. "No...no, _wait_, you can't-"

And then arms were wrapping around him, holding him back, pushing him down. A voice, fast and urgent, muttering, "No, Jim. Don't move. You're hurt-"

"Bones, you have to-Spock-"

"Jim-"

There were figures bending over Spock, obscuring him from Jim's view. He twisted desperately in Bones's grip, _hating _him for keeping him there. He was breaking, couldn't they see? They were _killing _him. He needed to go to him-he needed to-_Spock_-

A hiss and a painful prick in his neck. "No," he slurred, vision turning to mush. His hands scrabbled at Bones's. His face felt wet, even though he hadn't cried in _years_, no, it couldn't be.

"Sleep, Jim." How could he? It hurt, it hurt so bad.

_Sleep_.

And his world, whatever was left of it, melted away.

**A/N:...**

**Oops, my hand slipped and suddenly there is sadness. Is it bad that I couldn't decide who to shoot and ended up shooting both...?**

**Well, one chapter left, guys! Haha...ahaaaaaa...**

**OTL**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: The final chapter. In which, if all goes well, there will indeed be an M-rating for Spirky fun times. For all of those who doubted and cursed my name, your cries of woe were delicious and appreciated. I must confess to harboring a slight sadistic streak when it comes to my OTP. But alas, I am not that cruel. HOW COULD I EVER KILL SPOCK? Tis blasphemy. But anyway, hopefully this chapter will appease you, for some merriment and unscrupulous knavery occurs and there is much affection in the air.**

**I feel like this is moving a bit fast, but the story is rolling out of my hands now, folks. It wants things to be done and accomplished and I shall have to acquiesce to the natural flow of events. See you on the other side.**

Chapter 7

It was warm. He registered this first, above all else, as he hazily rose through the layers of unconsciousness. There was warmth all over, a soft pressure that cocooned and sheltered and protected. He felt that he could lie there forever. Except...something was wrong. It niggled at the edges of his mind, nudging insistently at the border of coherent thought, but still too unformed to break through.

He became slowly aware of his body over time. Two legs, two arms, lungs breathing in and out. The soft warmth gradually became fabric, starched sheets tucked tightly around his body. There was a dull throbbing in his left leg that was not totally painful, but still distinctly uncomfortable. His tongue felt fat and heavy and the acrid taste of copper coated the inside of his mouth.

He remembered now, a little...pain, yes, and blood. There was something...some_one_...he was trying to get to. Trying to save.

His name. Jim. Captain of the _Enterprise_. That's right. A thin thread of satisfaction at the breakthrough. He could hear something now. A low beeping, quiet and unobtrusive. The sensation that something was not quite right swelled briefly, dragging him to full consciousness with the abruptness of cold water dumped over his head.

Spock. Bleeding, falling-

His eyes snapped open and he stared up at a flat white ceiling, a bar of light burning into his retinas. He blinked and tried to turn his head. The motion triggered a flurry of beeping and dramatic wails from the equipment around his bed, summoning a running figure to his side at once.

"Jim," Bones said, relief evident in his weary voice as he bent over the bed. "You _idiot_."

Jim tried to speak, but could only muster a pathetic, wheezing groan. Bones held a paper cup to his face, tilting it just enough for the cool water to lap against his dry lips, and that helped a bit. "You nearly died, Jim. Your artery was blown to bits, your femur was shattered to pieces." Bones shook his head disbelievingly. "You were bleeding out faster than a punctured water balloon."

He had recovered enough now to find words. "Where's Spock?" he demanded, his voice a rusty, grating sound, but still audible.

"Jim-"

Through sheer strength of will, he seized the corner of Bones's white coat, dragging it down with the weight of his hand. "Where's. Spock." His voice cracked on his First Officer's name and he swallowed painfully

Bones was silent for a terrible, heartwrenching moment, and gently removed Jim's hand from his clothing, placed it on the sheets firmly and held it there.

No. "Bones-" _No_.

"He's in another room, Jim. He's sleeping."

Sleeping. Jim closed his eyes, released the breath he hadn't known he was holding. _He's alive_.

Bones was saying something and Jim forced himself to listen. "If he was human, he'd be dead, and that's the truth of it. Vulcans' hearts are lower than ours, about where the liver is, so the shot completely missed it. Tore up his lung pretty good, but he's alive." He patted Jim's hand gruffly. "He'll pull through, Jimmy. That pointy-eared bastard won't go down that easily, you know."

"The others...they're all okay?"

Bones grunted. "They're all fine. Minor contusions and scrapes. Been asking about you and the hobgoblin the past two days."

"And Carol? The scientists?"

"Patched up and fed and dropped off at the station yesterday. They wanted to say goodbye, but I figured you would want the place to yourself." Bones paused, rummaging through a pocket. "I found this in your clothes." He pressed the black knight into Jim's hand, curling the fingers around it tightly. "Thought you might want to hold on to it."

"Thanks, Bones," Jim whispered, eyes still closed. He could feel himself slipping back to sleep, now that he knew...the damn hypocrite, getting himself shot like that. And after all the patronizing bull he'd dragged Jim through...when he woke up, he was going to...

"Get some rest, Jim," Bones was saying, far, far away. "It'll all be okay."

…

When he next woke, the medbay lights were dimmed and it was quiet, but for the occasional beep of his numerous monitors. This was all a big deal of fuss, Jim couldn't help but think. He doubted Spock had this much hardware clogging up his personal space, and he was the one with the hole in his chest.

There was a rustling beside him and he managed to turn his head. His heart did something strange and dramatic, flipping ecstastically in his chest in cartwheels and somersaults.

It was Spock. He was sitting, propped up by piles of pillows, in the biobed beside Jim's, hospital gown open at the front to reveal a swath of white bandages against creamy greenish skin, and he was _working_. Tapping away on his datapad like absolutely nothing was wrong with him and he hadn't been lying in his own blood two days ago.

Jim uttered a stream of words that he hoped managed to convey both how happy he was to see Spock and how much he wanted to beat him around the head with his bedtray. Maybe this was how Bones felt whenever Jim escaped the medbay.

Spock's head snapped around and he dropped the PADD onto his lap. "Jim." He sounded strange, Jim thought. All muffled and suppressed. He mustered a shaky grin. "Shouldn't you be lying down or something?"

An eyebrow arched majestically as Spock countered, "Should you not be sleeping?"

"I've slept long enough." Now that he knew Spock was going to be okay, the situation seemed oddly amusing. He was insane, no doubt, to think this funny in any sort of way; sanity was overrated, in any case. He gave a quiet chuckle. "Look at us, all messed up like this. What kind of commanding officers are we?"

"This is hardly amusing," Spock told him, refusing to be deterred. "You nearly died, Jim." The accusation in his voice brought an automatic wave of indignation. "You were the one who was shot in the chest!" Jim protested. "If anything, _you_ were closer to dying!" _What kind of a conversation is this, anyway?_

"My vitals were left intact and I was able to increase my healing rate through a meditative trance," Spock answered dismissively, as if getting shot was something he did every day after lunch and between the hours of two and four o'clock. "You, however, sustained severe damage to a major artery and would have expired if not for the convenient proximity of Dr. McCoy!"

Jim found enough irritation within himself to push up onto an elbow and glare defiantly at Spock. "Look here," he started hotly, "that's not very fair of you."

"Oh?"

"_Oh_. You weren't so logical yourself, you know! Running out there like that without even checking behind you? Even kids check the road before crossing! That's an elementary mistake, Spock, and you know it."

Spock blinked. "I-"

Jim wasn't through. No way, not after all this. "Do you know how I felt, when I saw you fall? Do you know how much I...how many things I realized I hadn't said, hadn't ever told you? Do you know how much I wanted to die, so that you wouldn't?"

Spock's eyes were very dark, he realized dimly. Almost black, like space, but brighter. They were glittering now, with some emotion he couldn't identify. Jim pressed on doggedly, suddenly desperate for Spock to know, for him to realize that he couldn't ever do that ever again. Never fall in front of Jim like that, because it would kill him to lose Spock.

"I can't do that again, Spock. If you-if I ever lose you like that...I couldn't handle it, Spock. I won't be able to just pick myself up and keep going like I'm supposed to. I'm weaker than you think." He then remembered, and thrust his closed fist out from the bed towards Spock, opening his hand to reveal the mended knight. "Here. I had Scotty fix it. I thought I'd never be able to give you this, you know. So here, before we both get shot again."

Spock reached across the distance between them and took the knight carefully, almost in wonder. He turned the piece over in his fingers once, twice, then set it on the bedside table and took Jim's still outstretched hand, squeezing their fingers so tightly together that, for a moment, Jim could _feel_ him, could feel his mind brushing against his consciousness. "I feel more than you know, James," Spock said. A nervous thrill ran through Jim at the sound of his full name. He'd heard it from his mother, his teachers, the cops. But coming from Spock, it was something close and intimate and something to revered and replayed in his mind over and over, "and somewhat more deeply than you can understand."

There was an odd fullness to his voice, as if it hovered on the brink of trembling. But that was impossible. This was Spock, after all.

"What you have just described, what you think I do not understand, has it not occurred to you that I have felt the same every time I see you lying here, broken and bleeding? Do you not-" he paused suddenly, swallowed almost unnoticeably, and continued as smoothly as if he had never stopped,"Do you not think me capable of mourning, of grieving?" There was a definite shake to his words, Jim realized. He turned his head, but Spock was staring resolutely forward, his eyes fixed on something that was not there, or maybe not even in the present. "I am no longer capable of surviving without you, Jim Kirk. I can not explain it with logic or reason, I can only tell you what I...feel. And I feel a great deal." _About you_, were the unspoken words.

Jim lay there, feeling Spock's cool skin against his, and wished with all his might that he was not so completely incapacitated at the moment. "Well, damn," he said at last. "You really do have the worst timing."

"I apologize if it was inconvenient," Spock replied, a little frostily.

Jim grinned and glanced over. Spock met his gaze this time, his eyes heavy with unsaid confessions and promises. "You know, we never did talk about that kiss," Jim said softly. Their hands seemed suddenly very hot, but neither of them released the other.

"No," Spock agreed. "We did not."

"I really wish I could move right now."

"It can wait."

"No, it _can't,_" Jim said peevishly, slightly annoyed that Spock was acting the mature adult part.

"It will have to," Spock told him severely. "I assure you, Jim, the experience will not be nearly as enjoyable if you begin to bleed out again."

He had to laugh at that. "No, I suppose not."

They were silent for several heartbeats, then Spock unexpectedly loosed a heavy sigh and said, "Then again, I must confess to possessing less patience than I claim."

"What-"

The presence brushing at the edge of his mind now focused into a strong, pulsing entity, nudging questioningly. Jim, overcome by how _weird_ that felt, gasped his barely coherent consent, and then Spock was flowing into him, filling him with his memories and thoughts and _emotions_.

_So you _can_ feel_, Jim tried to say, or think, but his mind was clumsy and unaccustomed to this alien presence. It was like kid who couldn't even reach the pedals trying to parallel park. He thought he managed to portray a bumbling sense of curiosity. Thankfully, Spock seemed to be a deft interpreter of his heavyhanded attempts at communication.

_**I have not yet made it clear?**_ That was pure Spock on his head. Jim didn't "hear" it so much as he felt the thought form in his head. It was not an experience he thought he could describe. But he knew the words were not his own.

Melding with Spock, however limited it may be through just their hands, was by far the most intimate thing Jim had ever experienced in his life. There was something close and trusting in allowing Spock to enter his mind, to linger inside his consciousness and reside in his very existence. He could sense Spock's memories like peering through a foggy window, and he had only to look closer and wipe away the fog to see. He recognized a blurry scene of the warehouse, a faint impression of blazing pain and-

Spock swept him away briskly, with such ease that Jim mentally pouted. He felt a warm rumble of amusement and then a new memory was offered to him. This one he recognized as well, with a pleasant jolting feeling.

It was the kiss. On the observation deck.

_**You wished to know of my thoughts of the matter.**_

Jim tried to project how weird he found this, feeling the kiss from Spock's perspective.

Exasperation. _**Jim. **_

He could feel Spock's anxiety, his curiosity, his desire as he approached Jim, as he pressed him to the wall. It was strange, like watching a film, but the emotions were all too real. Reality seemed to flicker, until he was both lying in the bed and standing on the deck once more, the weight of a Vulcan pinning him still. His own memory of the incident twitched in interest, until he wasn't sure whose desire he felt, whose hands were sliding on whose skin, whose heartbeat was raging almost painfully in his chest.

And then Spock took it further, past the point where the kiss had actually ended. This must all be his imagination from that point on, and Jim barely had time to realize that Spock had _fantasized _about this before-

_His hands moved higher under Jim's shirt, memorizing the shape and curve of strong, well-formed muscles beneath his palms. Electricity sparked and sizzled, whether physically or mentally he could no longer tell, Jim's skin burned alluringly against his. He felt hot hands at his own sides, slipping under the fabric and burning a trail along his ribs. Heavy pants of air against his neck, a hot tongue flicking against the pulse on his neck. Jim's hips thrust forward demandingly, grinding effectively against Spock's thigh between his knees. The friction caused a shower of sparks, a shuddering ripple of pleasure down his spine. He buried his face in Jim's shoulder, breathed in his scent. He opened his mouth, bit down possessively on Jim's shoulder, felt the other man shudder in his arms and groan in a low, vibrating sigh._

_They stood there for some time, intertwined in a clutter of shaking limbs and quivering breaths, simply holding each other, two souls longing to be one..._

_Lying on Jim's bed, because he knew the heat of his own rooms made Jim uncomfortable, shedding unnecessary layers of clothing, pressing together. He gravitated towards Jim automatically when he felt the cooler air against his exposed skin, curling into Jim's radiating heat. He, like all humans, burned so brightly, so fiercely. Hot fingers tangled in his short hair, rumpling its neat shape, giving the strands that delicious tug that he had always found so stimulating..._

_Watching Jim sleep, face relaxed and unguarded. Trailing his fingertips down his forehead, his nose, hovering at parted lips..._

_Hot tongue pressing against his, flicking at the roof of his mouth, teeth pulling at his lower lip..._

_**I think this will do.**_

Spock let Jim go, projecting..._smugness, _of all things.

Jim wanted to tell him that he had given this way too much thought. That they were, after all, still lying in the medbay and this was hardly fair. That he had never pinned Spock as the type to enjoy hair-pulling. But all he could manage was a confused mass of shock, desire, impatience.

Spock peeled away from his mind slowly, gently, almost reluctantly. Jim blinked and he was alone again. He had never realized how lonely his own mind was, how completed he had felt with Spock inside him.

Down, Jimmy. This was hardly the time.

There would be plenty of time later, once he was out of this damn bed.

…

It was almost a full week later before Jim managed to get Spock alone. The ship had thrown a massive celebration when he finally limped out from the medical bay. Spock had been cleared to go three days before, a fact Jim thought he would always be somewhat sour about. In the whirl of people and laughter and congratulatory sloshes of drink, he had managed to catch only a few glimpses of a pale, solemn face, floating barely within sight.

But every time, before Jim could call out, Spock would slip away. After the party, there had been the cleanup, during which Spock made himself efficiently scarce. He had hoped to at least lay eyes on the man during bridge shift, but Uhura had heaped a pile of PADDs in his face almost as soon as he set foot through the doors, and he had unhappily spent the next three days attempting to put his signature on every datapad flailed before his face.

It was not a promising situation.

How mean of Spock, really, to offer that teaser in the medbay. A hint of what could happen, might happen, _would_ happen if he could get ten minutes alone with the Vulcan. Jim had never been overly fond of neglection play.

He saw his chance when leaving the mess hall after dinner with Sulu and Chekov, the latter jabbering excitedly about the complexities of roulette. Spock was already turning the corner when he noticed, but he was _alone_. Jim made his excuses with his companions and all but ran after his First Officer. He wasn't used to this, having to chase down what he wanted like this, but when had Spock ever been anything that he was used to?

"Spock," he gasped, wheeling around the corner and clutching at his thigh automatically. It didn't hurt, but tended to freeze up whenever he moved too quickly. Bones had said that it would get better with time, but the look of concern on Spock's face when he turned and saw Jim made him suddenly wish it wouldn't get better _too_ quickly.

"Jim, are you all right?" Spock moved uncertainly towards him, hand half-extended as if he wasn't sure he should help.

"_No_, I'm not." Jim reached out and made his decision for him, grabbing his hand and using it to straighten himself up. "You've been avoiding me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Spock tried to pull away, but Jim clung tight to his hand, using it as an anchor to pull him closer. He could smell the Starfleet regulation shampoo on Spock's hair and the completely ordinary scent was suddenly the most intoxicating thing in the world. He took a deep breath, his tongue flicking to the corner of his mouth habitually. Spock's eyes darted to the movement and his throat bobbed in a visible swallow.

"Spock," Jim said quietly, knowing the victory was already half won. Now, to seal the deal. "You know I can't wait much longer."

"I am...aware of your lack of restraint," Spock told him, a dry note in his voice. "I merely thought...I was not certain..." he trailed off, looking faintly confused.

And then Jim understood. Spock, being Spock, had not approached him _because he didn't know how to_. The last strand of his expiring self-control snapped so loudly at this revelation that he could almost hear it. He tightened his grip on Spock's hand, projecting all of his desire as loudly and wantonly and fiercely as he could, and watched with satisfaction as the tips of those pointy ears flushed green and a spot of color swept across high cheekbones. "Jim..."

"My rooms," Jim breathed, inwardly crowing with triumph. "Let's act out some of your fantasies, shall we?"

Spock may have answered, but Jim was too busy crowding him into the nearest turbolift to take notice. He punched in the crew quarters level, wheeled around, and dragged Spock's mouth down to his in one move. He slightly miscalculated the angle, his lips dragging against Spock's chin. He growled impatiently, scraping his teeth down Spock's jawline. Spock's hands moved up his arms, gripped his elbows tightly, nuzzling the side of his neck with a singleminded determination. The doors opened and they spilled out into the fortunately empty corridor.

Jim didn't remember opening his doors, but he was tearing his shirt off before they closed, growling and pulling Spock's over his head when he didn't remove it fast enough. The undershirt gave him slightly more trouble and he was puzzling over it when Spock made a strange sound and lunged forward.

Jim felt his back slam against the wall, the air whooshing out of his lungs in surprise. "Spo-" Spock fell against him, the lengths of their bodies suddenly touching in numerous delicious points of contact, his forearms braced on either side of Jim's head. This brought his face breathtakingly close to Jim's.

They stood frozen like this for a second, two seconds. Then Spock moved, tilting his face with agonizing slowness and brushing his lips against Jim's lightly, hesitantly. Jim let him experiment, though every nerve of his being screamed for him to grab Spock and completely undo him. "Jim," Spock whispered, as if tasting the name for the first time. Jim felt his face warming, for absolutely no reason. Spock's pupils were blown black with desire and Jim noticed for the first time the slight tremor that rippled through his entire body.

"Don't hold back," he breathed, his heart battering at his ribs.

As if those had been the magic words, the key to whatever door Spock had locked himself behind, Spock _moved_. Jim gasped in shock when cold hands shoved under his undershirt with surprising force, a contradictory hot tongue latching onto the side of his neck. He tilted his head to the side automatically, exposing the length of his neck, and Spock obliged accordingly, his teeth grazing light patterns across Jim's skin, every movement sending jolts of blood straight to his groin.

His own hands seemed to move automatically, wrapping around Spock's shoulders and weaving into his hair. He remembered dazedly Spock's half-formed dream and gave the back of his head a sharp tug. A hiss of air chilled his bared skin and Spock dragged his mouth up his throat and kissed him roughly. It was a messy and clumsy kiss, all teeth and tongue with little coordination from both, but it was the most inspiring kiss Jim had ever had. He found himself gasping for air, groaning when Spock's wandering hands discovered his nipples and gave them an experimental roll.

His knees buckled, his leg finally giving out, and he gave Spock's hair another yank. "Can't," he managed to say, but he knew Spock would understand. Good old Spock. Good-_shit_, his hands were _cold_. Spock's hand had moved down, squeezing the bulge between Jim's legs with deadly accuracy. Jim clung to Spock helplessly, unable to stand on his own, his hips rocking forward into Spock's palm involuntarily. "Stop, I'm going to-" he bit the rest of his sentence in horror. He was acting like, like some kind of _virgin_. He was Jim Kirk! There was no way he was just going to come like this against a wall, with his clothes still and Spock still so irritatingly in charge.

He shoved at Spock's chest, freeing enough space between them for him to cup Spock's own erection. To his fascination and slight apprehension, the act required both hands. "Tricky," he murmured, unsure of what he was even saying anymore. He squeezed slightly, reveling in the little shudder Spock gave at the light pressure.

"What?" Spock muttered, and he sounded so human and confused and _hot _in that moment that Jim almost gave up and came right there. But no. He had never been the type to give up halfway through a battle, and if this wasn't a battle then he would eat Spock's datapad. After, that is, he ate Spock's-

No. Bad Jimmy.

He wouldn't last long, in any case. There was a throbbing tightness in his thighs and abdomen, an uncomfortable straining in the fabric across his crotch. Spock's hand had not stopped moving, stroking and rubbing in all the right places, and there was nothing Jim wanted more at that moment than for Spock to touch his bare skin, to feel the, together. He was half aware that he was about to shoot in his pants like some horny teenager, and he found that he could care less, as long as he didn't go down alone.

He moved a hand up and around, gripping the back of Spock's head again. He gave his hair a hard pull and tugged with his other hand at the same time. _That_ time he got some kind of vocal response. Spock uttered a low groan that was almost Jim's name, his head falling forward against Jim's shoulder. His hand gave a hard, almost violent jerk, and Jim was gone, panting and bucking in staccato bursts into Spock's hand. Spock followed soon after, his hips twitching forward once in silence. Jim raised his hand shakily, flexing his fingers and marveling at the sticky strands that dripped from the digits. He was sure he had made quite a mess himself, but now Spock's hands were sliding down from his waist, gripping the back of his thighs.

The world flipped in a sudden blur and he was suddenly bouncing on the mattress, Spock crouching over him almost predatorily.

"Round two?" Jim asked breathlessly, feeling his own cock stir with interest. Good to know that his stamina was still in good shape, at least.

They got their clothes off this time, tossing the layers somewhere and promptly forgetting where. Spock snapped Jim's pants off with an eerily murderous glint in his eyes that didn't disappear as he kicked off his own clothing. The last time he had looked anywhere close to this had been when he had his hands wrapped around Jim's throat on the bridge console.

_Kinky_. Jim grabbed Spock's wrists and pushed a knee against his left hip, flipping the Vulcan onto his back. "Let me," he said, locking eyes with Spock as he straddled his stomach. _Don't kick me across the room_, was the message he hoped he managed to get across.

Spock lay still, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as he looked down at Jim with half lidded eyes. His hair was tousled, unruly tufts spiking up around his temples. A faint dusting of green softened the hard angles of his face and emphasized the ethereal paleness of his chest, his arms. The effect was staggering. Jim felt his half-soft erection harden in seconds at the display before him.

He wriggled down lower, lowering himself across Spock's chest. He lowered his lips gently, almost reverently to Spock's skin, tracing his collarbones with the tip of his tongue. Spock held admirably still while this went on, only the slightest twitching of his hands by his sides betraying his instability. Jim moved down, then paused when he discovered the healing, puckered scar on Spock's chest, just left of his sternum. "Does it hurt?" he murmured, kissing the round mark curiously. Spock tensed beneath him, a shaky sigh hissing between his clenched teeth. "It does not," he responded.

Jim carried on, mouthing at a flat nipple until it had hardened between his lips. He bit down lightly, hard enough to get Spock's attention, and glanced up in time to see Spock's eyes flutter shut, his lips moving silently in what was possibly a prayer, or, more likely, a recitation of the periodic table of elements.

_That won't help you_, he couldn't help but think wickedly, raking his teeth down Spock's flat stomach. The muscles there tensed and flexed beneath him involuntarily, and when his tongue traced the thin strip of hair leading to his groin, he felt Spock's hands moving onto his hips.

"Don't move," Jim said sternly, trying to control the quiver in his own voice. "This is a valuable experience."

Spock's grip tightened, his eyes snapping open to send a smoldering glare that had Jim melting into a puddle of hormones. "You talk too much," he rasped admonishingly, and dragged Jim forward by the hips so that he was straddling Spock's waist again. Jim straightened, slightly annoyed. "Look here, I'm trying to-"

"Don't speak." While Jim spluttered over this new offense, Spock placed a hand on his chest, dragging it down slowly. The trail he left behind burned and tingled strangely and Jim arched back unconsciously, trying to prolong the contact.

And then Spock's hand curled around his cock and tightened experimentally and Jim flinched, feeling himself drawing close again. His fingers scrabbled at Spock's wrist fruitlessly, barely coherent words spluttering out, "Wait-no, hold on-oh, that's _good_..."

Spock sat up suddenly, a hand strategically placed in the small of Jim's back to prevent him from tipping over, and set about invading his mouth with his tongue once more. Jim groaned around the kiss at the new sensation of his cock trapped between their two heaving bodies, and couldn't help but rock his hips, testing the angle. Spock's erection twitched uncomfortably beneath him and he shifted accordingly until they were pressed together.

He threw his head back in pleasure as Spock's hand covered his, working the two of them with just the right amount of pressure and delectable friction.

Spock didn't make much noise, but Jim found that if he thrusted forward at an unexpected moment, he could get little, barely restrained huffs of air from the Vulcan. This delighted him inexplicably and he set about making it a personal mission of his to see Spock completely undone. To his slight disappointment, neither of them made it to that point before they both came, Jim with a loud groan, warmth spilling over their hands.

Spock's hand tightened on his back with enough force to make a mark, and Jim somewhat suspected that that was exactly what he intended. He sighed with satisfaction, slipping to the side and pulling Spock down with him until they were lying down, facing each other.

"Mmm," he smiled, looping an arm lazily over Spock's waist. Spock was watching him with a strange expression, as if memorizing every feature of his face, every heaving breath that brought their chests closer together. "What?" Jim finally asked.

Spock blinked. "I was merely...I wanted to remember this," he said, sounding almost embarrassed.

"Your memory is perfect," Jim pointed out, though he couldn't help but feel exceedingly pleased by the confession. He then grinned. "And this is hardly our last time, if I can do anything about it. I won't give you enough time to forget."

At that moment, he could have sworn he saw a quick twitch at the corner of the Vulcan's lips. "I will hold you to that, Captain."

"Damn right you will."

**A/N: THE END? I'm bad at endings, lol. When in doubt, add sex, I suppose. Well, this has been an excellent adventure, folks, and I have greatly enjoyed your company. Alas, for there will be an unfortunate pause in further fics until I return from my one-month quest from Taiwan. NEVER FEAR, AND DON'T GIVE UP ON ME, FOR I SHALL MAKE A GLORIOUS RETURN LIKE A PHOENIX FROM THE ASHES OF DESPAIR (lack of Internet).**

**A hint of possible works to come: **

**-a Bones-centric drabble, because I love him**

**-Spock realizes feelings for Jim and sets about avoiding him. Jim is appropriately puzzled and outraged.**

**-a glorious adventure for which much research about ST universe must be done -_-**

**-a choose your adventure quest in which you guys get to vote on what happens next ohohoho**

**Also, I might be looking into a beta reader (slave) to assist in the gathering of research and such and proofreading, because although I think I'm pretty good at catching slips, sometimes while editing I accidentally delete a word without noticing. So if you're interested in such a position, feel free to PM me and I'll sort it out whenever I find a wifi hotspot ;_;**

**edit: beta reader positions have been filled! Thanks to everyone who considered it!**

**I love you guys so much. For real. Like, fk eskldmvlkd mdslkmsdlmKJDSKLFJDLK. You don't know how much I appreciate your feedback and emotional responses lol. **


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